


A Girl In A Misfits T-shirt

by actanonverba7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Baldric Bronson - Freeform, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Books, Bookstores, Breo - Freeform, Character Death, Cliche, Dom Draco Malfoy, F/M, Fluff, Français | French, Good Slytherins, Inappropriate use of the Malfoy signet ring, Jacking off, Minor Character Death, Muggle London, Orgasm via Malfoy Signet ring, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco, Protective Slytherins, Quidditch, Ron Weasley Bashing, Size Kink, Smut, Smut in French, Spell Creation (Harry Potter), Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, Why does everyone shit on Blaise?, multi character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-27 17:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actanonverba7/pseuds/actanonverba7
Summary: Draco Malfoy laughed.What a fucking cliche. He strode towards the fiction section of Variabilis Books, as he always did, when he sees her. Hermione Granger is sitting on the floor, between the stacks, reading fucking Bukowski. So, no, this could not get anymore fucking cliche.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	1. Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Venus.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my incredible beta miss @tomridswhorcrux! I couldn't have done this without her.

Draco Malfoy laughed. 

What a fucking cliche. He strode towards the fiction section of  Variabilis Books , as he always did, when he sees her. Hermione Granger is sitting on the floor, between the stacks, reading fucking Bukowski. So, no, this could not get anymore fucking cliche. 

Creases already lined the spine. She had cracked the spine? While still  _ inside _ the bookstore? Draco couldn’t stop staring at the way Hermione was engrossed in  _ Notes of a Dirty Old Man _ by Charles Bukowski. Her amber eyes never once lifted from the text. Pages flipped and eyes scanned back and forth without concern for the world turning around her.  _ She looked beautiful, _ Draco thought. Everything about her was so typical Granger—black converse creased and smudged with white laces turned grey. Worn out denim, beginning to rip, covered her knees while the seams of her jeans frayed. Upon first glance, you’d think the grey of her shirt and the cracks in the screenprinting of the iconic  _ The Misfits Box Se _ t album cover skull was manufactured that way. In reality, the grey was once stark black a decade ago and the missing pieces of the trees came from hundreds of trips through the washer and dryer. Hermione Granger was sitting in a bookstore, engrossed in Bukowski, and she looked effortlessly beautiful. 

Before breaking the spell of his gaze, Draco consumed everything he could about her. Right as Draco was about to look away, Hermione tore her eyes off the page for the first time. Bukowski could have written about the heat between them as their eyes burned into one another. The endless moment, a thousand words exchanged through their eyes, was the only muse Bukowski needed. Just as Draco had thought the moment he saw her,  _ gods this is fucking cliche _ . 

Hermione broke their wordless gaze first, “Malfoy?”

“Granger,” Draco gave her a slight nod, acknowledging her presence. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Patronizing a bookshop, the same as you.”

“No. I meant what are you doing  _ here _ ? In a Muggle bookshop.”

“If you  _ must know _ , it’s my favorite one.”

Hermione gawked at him, unable to process that Draco Malfoy’s favorite bookshop was Muggle. Draco awaited her response; when it seemed she was going to ignore him, he turned on his heel to walk away.

“Why is this one your favorite,” Hermione stammered, clearly flustered.

  
  


Variabilis Books was situated on the corner of a busy street in Muggle London’s West End. Cobblestone lined the exterior of the three story building; the exterior was run down and dirty looking. Only faint lettering above the door and small windows with a view of messily stacked books proved the building wasn’t vacant. Any passerby wouldn’t take a second glance at the bookshop, it was heavily under patronized which kept it quaint. A lovely older couple, Amanda and Irvin Asier, never minded the lack of customers. Windows facing the street lined two sides of the building, providing a lovely view of the area. 

“I love that people rarely come here,” said Draco. “Whenever I buy a new book I go to the bay window on the second floor and read there for hours—it’s my favorite part of every Wednesday. You can see my favorite hotel in London from one of the bay windows..”

“Which hotel is your favorite?” Hermione asked, never having sat in a bay window on the second floor.

“The Savoy.”

~*~

Every Wednesday since, Draco Malfoy would see Hermione Granger at Variabilis. He’d find her exactly the way he did the first time, reading in between the fiction stacks, while on his way up the winding staircase to the second floor. They began to wave at each other as Draco passed her by each week; Hermione only looked up from her book for Draco. 

Months passed as they both felt comfort on their routine. Neither dared to disturb what felt like a firm constant in both of their lives. Not until one Wednesday Draco Malfoy didn’t see Hermione Granger engrossed in a new book between the fiction stacks. His heart sank but brushed it off as made his way up the staircase, newly purchased book in tow. 

She was there. In his favorite bay window, looking out at his favorite hotel. Hermione Granger in  _ his _ bay window. Sensing his presence, Hermione turned to smile at Draco. After a moment in shock, Draco began to absorb the scene in front of him. Why did Hermione have two books? Not a single crease adorned the book sitting next to her. Draco continued walking over to his favorite corner of the earth when Hermione spoke.

“Hi,” she smiled as she spoke.

They hadn’t spoken since Draco walked in on the biggest fucking cliche. Their carefully crafted routine didn’t involve anything more than a wave on her end with a smile and nod on Dracos. This was new territory, Draco didn’t know if he was ready to dive head first into new territory. 

“Hi,” Draco responded awkwardly. 

“I quite like the view from this window. No wonder it’s your favorite, it’s so peaceful up here.”

“Peaceful. Yeah, it’s peaceful.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping, but I’ve noticed you seem to be going through the classics. I thought you might like to read this one.”

Hermione reached to grab the paperback sitting next to her; as she held out the book for Draco to grab, their hands brushed against one another. Electricity shot through their bones, heat filled their bodies.  _ Another fucking cliche- great _ , Draco thought. 

Draco read the title aloud, " _The Great Gatsby_ ,” before looking back up at Hermione to notice she was already watching him. 

“It’s one of my favorites,” Hermione said shyly. “Daisy is one of the most hated females in literature,” she laughed. 

“I’ll give it a go. Thanks, Granger.”

As Hermione gave up the prized window seat and descended the winding staircase she looked back at Draco one last time, he couldn’t help but notice she was wearing the _ Misfits _ shirt again. And so, a new routine began.

______________________________________________________________________________

_ The Great Gatsby _ by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Draco returned to his flat that night- made himself a cup of tea, turned on the fireplace, and curled up in his armchair. In true Granger fashion, Draco cracked the spine and began reading. He spent hours enthralled by Nick Carraway, Daisy Buchanan, and Jay Gatsby. Draco hadn’t even noticed the passing of time until the clock struck twelve. Wonderful,  _ yet another fucking cliche _ .

_ And so with the sunshined and the great busts of leaves _

_ growing on the trees just as things grow in fast movies, _

_ I had the familiar conviction that life was _

_ beginning over again with the summer _

Although it was only February, Draco felt the pages turning. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of him and Hermione orbiting each other from away. All he knew is that whatever it was, he didn’t want it to end. 

Infamously a man of routine, Draco met Theo and Blaise for their weekly Tuesday night game of pontoon. Theo always managed to win, Draco and Blaise had yet to figure out how he managed to cheat every week. The Slytherins drank and played until Draco and Blaise gave up on attempting to beat Theo in the next round. Several galleons richer and four firewhiskeys less sober, Theo asked the question of the hour.

“So… you’re seeing, Granger?”

“I am not ‘seeing’ Granger. We simply patronize the same bookshop and run into each other there. We are most definitely not seeing each other.”

Theo and Blaise laughed in unison. 

“If you’re not seeing each other, why did she give you that book? How do you explain that?” Blaise inquired with a smirk.

Theo chimed in, “It’s been what, six months? You cannot tell me that you don’t look forward to those measly seconds you get to look at her in that damn bookstore.”

Draco sighed, “We’ve been skating around each other for months and I don’t have a fucking clue what it’s meant to mean. We’ve spoken once since the first day I saw her there. So no you arseholes, we are not seeing each other and I have no idea what that book meant.”

“Just go talk to her mate, what’s the worst that could happen? At least allow yourself the opportunity to blush about an interaction that lasts longer than Blaise does,” Theo laughed.

“Oh, fuck you, mate,” Blaise retored. 

The trio burst out laughing, knowing very well that once upon a time at Hogwarts Blaise had often suffered with the inability to well—last. He claimed that problem was long gone, but Theo and Draco were always weary of that proclamation. 

As the laughter died down, Draco took a large gulp of his firewhisky, “I don’t even know what I want from her. I don’t know if I even want things to change.”

Blaise looked at Draco like he didn’t believe a word of what he said, “Go read at that damn bay window on the second floor with her. If she falls, catch the Golden Girl.”

~*~

Without considering the consequences, Draco made his way to the fiction section. The elderly couple waved at him just before he found her. Typical. Hermione Granger might be more stuck in a routine than Draco. Once again, she was sitting on the floor in the fiction section with a cracked spine and dirty converse. Always those damn dirty converse. Just like every other Wednesday, she felt his presence and looked up at him smiling. Unlike the other Wednesdays, Draco didn’t nod and continue towards the staircase.

“Referring to someone as ‘Old Sport’ might just be the most pretentious shite I have ever heard,” Draco said with a confidence in his voice that didn’t portray the rapid beating in his heart. 

“You know, Old Sport, I’m going to have to agree with you on that one.”

“Granger agrees with a former Death Eater? Thank Merlin we’re in Muggle London and Rita Skeeter isn’t around to catch you and ruin the Golden Girl in an expose on Sunday’s front page.”

“You can’t be so sure she isn’t lurking in the shadows with a photographer.”

“Ah yes, a picture is worth a thousand words.”

“If you see a flash or a quick notes quill, run.”

“Granger afraid of a quick notes quill? Didn’t you know a thousand words isn’t worth a picture?” 

“I think one can accomplish quite a lot in a thousand words.”

Draco joined Hermione on the floor for the first time on that Wednesday. Books forgotten, the two talked for the first time in nearly eight years. More than a thousand words circled the pair as Draco’s heartbeat quickened and Hermione’s cheeks blushed. Draco swore to himself that he would not think about the chemistry and internal pull he felt towards her. He did not need to become another cliche. 

_ Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,  _

_ he told me, just remember that all the people in this  _

_ world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had. _

“You know, Granger, I think you might have had an ulterior motive in giving me that book.”

“Pray tell, Malfoy.”

“One of the major themes was class and how empty and shallow the upper class is.”

“Well, if that particular theme resonated with you Malfoy, that isn’t my fault.” 

Draco laughed, “You really are something else, Hermione Granger.”

“Would you say I’m a rose?”

“An absolute rose.”

In the time the two spent learning each other all over again, on the floor of the bookshop, Draco learned that after the war Hermione wanted nothing to do with the Ministry. She grew tired of doing what everyone expected of her and had a deep seeded disdain for the Ministry after their handling of Voldemort’s return. Upon finishing her NEWTs, Hermione founded a private spell invention company. Emparecium allowed patrons to commission the creation of spells, unfortunately requiring Ministry approval for each spell. Draco learned the pun was a combination of her mother’s middle name, Erin, and elementary school best friend’s name, Marie. She enjoyed it. Her face lit up when describing the various forms of magic she had to intertwine to create a spell. Draco told her about his time traveling throughout the Muggle world after the war; in America he learned that upon graduating school it was common to backpack across Europe. It was clear from the way he spoke that Draco was not a fan of that idea. He spoke of his discovery of Muggle sports and his collection of football, hockey, and baseball jerseys. While watching a hockey game on television, Draco found his calling. Upon his return to the U.K. Draco created a station on the WWW dedicated to the broadcasting of Quidditch games. Much like a Muggle sports broadcaster, Draco provided live coverage of all the Quidditch matches in Britain. Being a wizard had its perks, Draco was also able to attend Quidditch matches in Bulgaria, Ireland, and France to broadcast them to the Great Britain Quidditch fans. Both of them loved their jobs. They were happy. 

~*~

_ And I like large parties. They’re so intimate.  _

_ At small parties there isn’t any privacy. _

Saturday evening approached and Draco, Theo, and Blaise joined Narcissa for dinner at Malfoy Manor. Lucius never recovered after the fall of Voldemort; his time in Azkaban and subsequent stress over pleasing Voldemort deteriorated him. While awaiting trial, he became gaunt and so frail he was barely able to get out of bed in the morning. The night terrors and panic attacks never ceased until the day Narcissa sat on their bed, held Lucius’ hand, kissed his forehead, and told him that she loved it and that he could let go. Lucius Malfoy died on July 8, 1998. Narcissa was a mess for weeks, she lost the love of her life. Saturday evening dinners with her son and his best friends held her together until she was ready to move on. With the loss of Theo’s father and Lucius, they all came together to support one another through the reconstruction of their lives. Mrs. Zabini left England after the battle and fled to Italy in search of husband number eight; Blaise would visit once a year but he had never been close to his mother. Narcissa was a mother to all of the Slytherins. 

Discussion of the annual Malfoy Summer Solstice Ball occupied their dinner. As Mippy brought out their Medeterrainan cuisine for the evening, the four began to discuss the guest list and decor. 

Narcissa looked at the trio and asked, “I know this is months away but have you boys considered who you will be bringing as dates yet?”

Theo and Blaise looked at each other and snickered. Blaise finally responded, “No, but I’m sure Draco knows _ exactly _ who he wants to invite.”

Draco glared at his friends, “I don’t plan on bringing a date, but thank you for your lovely comment Blaise.”

Looking back and forth between the boys, trying to piece together what was occurring, Narcissa asked, “Theo do you mind explaining what on earth Blaise is speaking of that has Draco blushing, but wanting to immediately apparate out of the dining room?”

“Draco has been spending time with Hermione Granger.”

As his cheeks reddened and his pulse quickened Draco glared at Theo and motioned for him to shut up. Blaise made eye contact with Narcissa, silently telling her what Theo said was true.

Diverting the topic of conversation from Draco’s clear embarrassment Narcissa asks, “What do you boys think about having the ball outside this year? We could charm fireflies to fly and have lights strung up between the trees.”

Blaise nodded, “I think that’s a lovely idea, Narcissa.”

Having calmed down Draco added, “On my trip to America I saw bioluminescence at one of the beaches in California during the summertime. The water glowed bright blue. Perhaps we could get some of the algae blooms and add them to the pond by the pergola? We would need to charm the pond so it rippled because water movement causes the glow.”

Remembering the photos Draco brought back, Narcissa grabbed them to show Theo and Blaise before making the final decision. Fireflies and bioluminescence would provide beautiful light and color to the once bleak manor. 

“Are we having the party on the actual Summer Solstice this year? Or are we doing it on the Saturday of that week?” Theo asked to ensure everyone was on the same page. 

Narcissa checked in her calendar, “I think we should this year. If we are having such a lovely outdoor experience I think it makes the most sense to have it on the day of. Adds to the ambiance.” 

Blaise leaned over to see the date circled on the calendar, “June 21st this year, not the 20th like last year.”

Everyone agreed that a true Summer Solstice party needed to occur on the actual Solstice. Summer and Winter Solstice parties helped Narcissa occupy many months of her year in party planning. The events helped her move forward following Lucius’ death so the boys never complained when they were asked to help. It mattered to her, and she didn’t ask for much.

Bringing out his own calendar to mark the date, Draco looked up at everyone, horror plaguing his face. He spoke slowly, “That’s  _ Wednesday, _ June 21st.” 

~*~

  
  


Instead of finding Hermione hidden in the fiction stacks, Draco found her sitting on his bay window seat again. Life moved in slow motion. Her golden curls spun as she turned to meet his eyes. The late afternoon light luminated her warm toned skin and her amber eyes were shined so bright Draco swore they looked like honey. When Hermione spoke to him, all he could hear was a symphony of waves crashing, old church bells, children laughing, the fire cackling, and the sound of the rainforest. Merlin help him, Draco Malfoy was going to die from being a cliche. 

_ Her voice is _

_ full of money. _

Draco knew Gatsby was referring to wealth and privilege when telling Nick about Daisy. He knew that. But, he couldn’t help but think of those words. Her voice is full of money, men could drown in it and never have enough. Hermione Granger’s voice didn’t speak of wealth and privilege but it sounded like heaven. 

“I got you a new book,” Hermione said excitedly. 

Draco reached for the book and turned it around to read the title, “ _Lord of the Flies_.”

The two shared the small bay window and read together in silence until the sun had long set behind the buildings in London and the only light came from the neon shop signs that lined the street. Knowing the elderly couple quite well, Draco and Hermione felt comfortable staying well past business hours. Nothing disturbed the serenity the new friends found in the window. 

______________________________________________________________________________

_ Lord of the Flies _ by William Golding

Midnight approached as Draco and Hermione finished their books. Realizing how late it was, the two quickly headed down the spiral staircase and waved goodbye to the Asier’s, who were drinking tea together, and walked out the door onto a cold and deserted London street. 

Mustering up some strength Draco asked, “It’s late. Would you like to walk to the apparition point with me?”

“I’d love that, Malfoy.”

Walking in silence was oddly comforting for Draco. Only the sound of the wind rustling the trees echoed against the tall stone buildings. Being an exceptionally cold February night, Draco did what any respectable pureblood gentlemen would do. Not because he had a crush on Hermione.

“You look a little cold,” Draco said as he began removing his outer coat, “Here—take my coat. We still have a ways to the apparition point and I run hot anyways.”

Hermione blushed, taking the jacket, “Thank you.”

_ We did everything adults would do.  _

_ What went wrong? _

Nearing the apparition point, Draco knew his time was almost up. “Hermione, do you ever wonder how we would have turned out if we weren’t children fighting a war?”

She stopped walking abruptly, “We wouldn’t be right here, right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll provide two hypotheticals. The first being, Voldemort never returned and we all had a peachy keen childhood. I would be working for the ministry instead of inventing spells and you would be doing whatever absurdly rich people do with a pureblood wife and pureblood ideals. The second hypothetical is that the adults fought the majority of the war; I would never have gone horcrux hunting. We’d all be dead if we left it up to them. So, no, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

When Draco and Hermione reached the apparition point Draco turned and said, “I’d like to believe that if the past were different I would still end up right here right now.”

“Why?”

“Put that big spell inventing brain to good use, Granger. You can accomplish quite a lot in a thousand words, start there.”

~*~

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He didn’t know how to stop. It was driving him mad. Theo and Blaise were no help at all. Dumb and Dumber told him to simply stop thinking about her if he didn’t want to continue thinking about her. Shite advice. After three days of pining painfully, Draco owled Pansy inviting her out for lunch the following day. Promptly at one o’clock, Draco apparated to their favorite French restaurant, La Petite Grue en Papier. 

Over the top, as always, Pansy arrived like she had just stepped off the runway at Paris Fashion Week. Draco knew he shouldn’t have expected any less from the one female friend he kept in close contact with. Seeing her arrive, Draco stood up front the table he was seated out to hug her. 

“Pansy, it’s been way too long. I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Missed you loads, Draco. Can we cut to the part where you ask me for advice on Granger so I don’t have to listen to you babble about Quidditch for an hour?”

“How did you-”

“Theo and Blaise. Honestly Draco, I’m offended you haven’t come to me sooner.”

“I don’t know what I want with her Pansy. That’s why I haven’t asked you.”

“If you can’t get this girl out of your head, granted I don’t know why considering her treacherous hair and ungodly personality, then ask her to spend time with you outside of that bookshop.”

_ The greatest ideas _

_ are the simplest.  _

Pansy spent the rest of their lunch explaining to Draco how despicable that she was the last girl he dated and how badly he needed to date someone- even if that someone was Hermione Granger. Of course, Pansy insisted she meet Hermione if it ever got serious but never expected him to get that far.

“Draco—just ask her to spend time with you. It doesn’t have to be a date. Just get to know the girl for fucks sake.”

“What would I even ask her to do?”

“Dinner, Draco. Gods, are you really this daft?”

~*~

Although Draco had finished  _ Lord of the Flies  _ on Wednesday, he couldn’t help but pick it up again. He also couldn’t help himself from thumbing through the book of Bukowski poems he purchased after seeing Hermione reading some of his works. Draco, secretly, was a sucker for a good poem. Once Draco found a poem that resonated with him, he grabbed his quill and began to write it down. He flipped open to the title page in  _ Lord of the Flies _ , deciding that book was the perfect place to express how he was feeling.

_ If I never see you again _

_ I will always carry you _

_ inside _

_ outside _

_ on my fingertips _

_ and at brain edges _

_ and in centers _

_ centers _

_ of what I am _

_ of what remains. _

_ \- Charles Bukowski  _

What Draco was not going to do was think about what an utter cliche he continued to be. He didn’t think about being a cliche. He most definitely did not think about Hermione Granger. No, not at all. As he began to unwind for the evening, Draco walked up the staircase in his London flat. Clear glass railings on the stairs adjacent to a never ending bookcase caused everyone to turn an eye, even if they didn’t give a shite about books at all. His flat was modern. It was masculine. Black marbles and dark woods contrasted the floor to ceiling glass windows. His view of the city was beautiful, the city lights always caused the sides of his lips to creep upward. A king-sized bed was placed so Draco could look at the cityscape from his sheets in the morning or night. The tone of the bedroom mirrored the modern masculine aesthetic of his downstairs. His flat was a loft and it was perfect for him, having an open floor plan that felt airy was the exact contrast he needed after being a prisoner at Malfoy Manor for so many years. After a long hot shower, Draco Malfoy curled beneath the sheets and most definitely did not think about Hermione Granger while he was drifting to sleep.

______________________________________________________________________________

_ Ceremony _ by Leslie Marmon Silko

Just like the last, Draco and Hermione’s new routine quickly fell into place. Each week Hermione waited for Draco at the bay window. Draco was convinced that Hermione had an ulterior motive for giving him the books—the themes connected to him or his past too much. He was sure that she was trying to reform a former Death Eater. Instead of purchasing a book, Draco immediately made his way up the stairs and sat next to Hermione to begin reading the newest book that she had purchased for him. 

_ He lay in a shallow depression _

_ And heaped piles of dry leaves  _

_ over himself until he felt warm again. _

Pansy’s advice rang in the back of his head, beckoning him to take that leap. As much as Draco tried to shake it off, he couldn’t. Pansy’s high pitched voice roared in his ears, it was unbearable. He knew the sentiment reminded him of something. It was a television show. What was it? It was a shrill he swore he would hear on his deathbed, punishment for all his sins. But, what was that damn show called?

A night without a beautiful sunset felt like a bad omen to Draco. He felt that he had no other choice. The only way Pansy’s god awful voice would leave his head, he was sure it was the only way, was by asking Granger to dinner. On the count of four, Draco inhaled, held his breath, exhaled and then held his breath again. Four count breathing was how Draco began to ground himself in his early teenage years—it was a habit he never got rid of. Where was Blaise’s charm and Theo’s wit when he needed it the most?

After his final exhale, Draco asked, “It’s getting late and I’m getting a bit hungry. Would you want to grab a bite to eat?”

The entire percussion section of the London Symphony Orchestra had replaced his heart. The steelpan player took over as his heart beat to the tune of  _ Everything’s Alright _ by Soca. A snare drum solo marched like an army general. Waiting for Hermione to answer, the marimba increased the tempo.  _ Attraction _ by  Emmanuel Séjourné took control of the sound and continued the climb of the marimba. Bossa Nova beats took over his heart, playing to the rhythm of  _ Mas Que Nada _ by Sergio Mendes. Portugese flew around him, he almost missed the first words that sambaed from her lips.

“I’m quite hungry myself, that sounds lovely. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

The percussions were quickly returned to the London Symphony Orchestra as Draco regained full control of his beating heart. Portugese was tucked away again, waiting for a samba in Rio De Janeiro to return again.

“Fancy Italian?”

Hermione nodded and they made their way down the stairs to say goodbye to the Asier’s before meeting the brisk late February air. Even though her cheeks immediately blushed red from the nighttime air Hermione asked, “Do you mind if we walk? It’d be nice to enjoy more of London.” Secretly, Draco hoped it was because she wanted to spend more time with him. 

_ What color of sky is inside this one? _

_ She shook her head, “This isn’t for color,”  _

_ she said. “It’s for light. The light of the stars,  _

_ and the moon penetrating the night.” _

Just a short walk across Tower Bridge, Draco and Hermione arrived at the waterfront Cantina Del Ponte. The restaurant was relatively quiet considering it was eight o’clock on a Wednesday night. Once the hostess sat them at their riverfront table, Draco and Hermione began to look over the rich menu. 

Draco broke the silence, “Does anything look good to you?”

“Yeah, I think I’m going to have the linguine allo scoglio. Do you know what you’re having?”

“The merluzzo polenta burro e salvia is my favorite dish here. I get it everytime.”

“Oh that sounds delicious. Baked cod is one of my favorites as well, but I’m always partial to pasta. I can’t say no to a seafood pasta.”

“I’m not sure if you drink, do you want to order some wine? There’s great Pinot Grigio here.”

“A glass of wine sounds perfect.”

The waiter came to the table to explain the specials. Even though Draco and Hermione knew what they were having, they listened closely and nodded at all the correct moments. 

The waiter asked, “Could I interest you two in a bottle of wine for the evening?”

Without missing a beat Draco replied , “We’d love a bottle of the 1998 Zind Humbrecht - Pinot Gris please.”

“Of course sir, I’ll be right back with that for you.”

As the waiter turned to retrieve the wine Draco had ordered, Hermione shouted in a whisper, “Malfoy that’s a $200 bottle of wine.”

“It’s a good wine.”

As the evening continued, the two talked about their workweeks and upcoming weekend plans. Once all their food had been eaten and the pinot had long been drank- they asked for the check. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” The waiter left the bill on the table. 

Draco reached for the bill and placed a credit card in the check presenter without even looking at it while Hermione tried to grab the check from him, clearing insisting she pay for herself. 

“I’m not letting you pay for yourself, Granger.”

Slight blushing under the moonlight Hermione replied, “Thank you, Malfoy. I’ve had a lovely evening. I haven’t eaten at a place this nice in quite a while.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

“Why do you have a credit card?”

“I spend more time in Muggle London than you might think.”

As eleven o’clock r olled around, the two finally made their way to the front of the restaurant and bid their farewells to the maître d.

“Thank you Alyssa, we had a lovely evening.”

Hermione whisper shouted again, “I’m pretty sure her name tag said Ale and not Alyssa.”

“Her name is definitely Alyssa. I know these sorts of things, Granger.”

Crossing the Tower Bridge once more, Hermione stopped to look out at the moonlight reflecting off the river. On que,  _ Moon River  _ sung by Andy Williams began to play at a private party that had begun winding down at The Tower Hotel.  _ Have I become a walking fucking cliche? _ Draco thought about it for only a second before saying sod it and embracing cliche that his life had become. 

Draco extended a hand to Hermione and asked, “Care for a dance?”

She put her hand on his and they began to dance in the twilight in the middle of Tower Bridge. They moved like lovers who had danced together for decades, never missing a step and always knowing where the other would move next before they did. As their budding relationship retrograded the waning moon that night, Draco and Hermione let the changing phases illuminate the light that was once held captive by the dark.

_ Sunrise! _

_ We come at sunrise _

_ to greet you. _

_ We call you _

_ at sunrise. _

_ Father of the clouds _

_ you are beautiful _

_ at sunrise. _

_ Sunrise! _

“Would you like to walk around the city some more? I haven’t gotten to walk around London in years,” Hermione asked. 

“Lead the way, Granger.”

Draco and Hermione wandered aimlessly around London, admiring the quiet city. Not quite the samba and most definitely not Portguese, the conversation flowed mimicking River Thames. 

“So,  _ Ceremony _ by Leslie Marmon Silko? Which theme were you trying to use to heal my problems this time?” Draco asked while chuckling, knowing Hermione would blush.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Malfoy.”

“Tradition? Purity? Cultural Dominance? Hybridity?”

“If those themes are what resonated with you-”

“Granger, you’re not fooling anybody. I changed my mind about these things a long time ago, you don’t need to Death-Eater-rehab me through classic literature.”

Suddenly, the river stopped. It froze and so did they. Hermione spun to look at Draco, whipping him with her locks in the process. 

“Is that _ seriously _ what you think, Malfoy?”

Not quite answering, Draco nodded his head slightly. Gesturing that is  _ exactly _ what he thought she was doing.

“ _ Lord of the Flies  _ was the book I had been looking forward to reading in year 10 and I had to read it alone at Hogwarts instead of with people I had known since early childhood; that book signifies the moment I realized I had to pick a world because no one in my life understood the other.  _ The Great Gatsby _ made 16 year old Hermione realize that pretending to be someone I’m not is as good as dead.  _ Ceremony _ was the first book I bought at  Variabilis . They’re some of my favorites Malfoy and I gave them to you because I thought you would enjoy them.”

Stunned, Draco just stared at her as the pendulum on Big Ben swung back and forth. The pendulum swang right and Draco couldn’t stop thinking about how badly he wanted to grab her and kiss her; the pendulum swang left and Draco convinced himself that whatever weird friendship they had would be ruined if he did. The Nanny! Draco finally fucking remembered. The damn television show was called The Nanny. Drescher’s nasality snapped Draco out of his haze to see Hermione staring back at him.

“I’ve got an idea,” Draco announced.

“And what might that be?”

“It’s 6:30, it’s almost sunrise.”

“Yes, Malfoy. I’m aware.”

“Have you ever watched the sun rise from the London Eye?”

“It’s not even open, Malfoy.”

“Sometimes you forget that you’re a witch.”

With that, Draco dragged Hermione over to the base of the London Eye. They stopped at the ticket purchasing booth before casting an invisibility charm.

Hermione read the script of the ticket booth, “Dani’s Auction? Weird name don’t you think?”

“It’s been here forever; people stopped questioning when the era is going to end and an updated booth will replace it.”

Draco grabbed onto Hermione’s shoulder and apparted them to the carriage on the top of the London Eye. The view was incredible from 135 meters off the ground. 

_ Sunrise, _

_ accept this offering,  _

_ Sunrise.  _

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Hermione exclaimed as the pitch black night turned an array of shades of purple then hundreds of shades of orange. 

The two friends sat in the carriage, a comfortable silence between them, and watched as the sky performed the only magic that Muggles could see. At exactly 6:58 am the colors were gone and the sky was bright, but the magic between them remained. 

Already within an apparition zone, Draco and Hermione parted ways. Saying goodbye to the river where the sun set as they had all those years ago and rose again as they had mere months ago. There was no longer moonlight on the river, instead, rays of light illuminated River Thames. 

“I- I had a wonderful time tonight, Malfoy.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

~*~

Overlooking the cityscape, Draco sat on his sofa with a cup of tea on the coffee table. Days had gone by and all Draco thought about was how badly he wanted to kiss her. He should have kissed her. No. He shouldn’t have. Should he have? All he knew is that he wanted to grab Hermione Granger and kiss her like in a Muggle movie. New routines were creeping into Draco’s life, he embraced this one, so he picked up his latest gift from Hermione and wrote a Bukowski poem on the cover page. 

_ I want to be with you, _

_ it is as simple, and as  _

_ complicated as that. _

_ \- Charles Bukowski _

Morning had turned into afternoon and Draco got ready to meet Theo and his new boyfriend. He didn’t know much about the lad, but Theo seemed incredibly happy and that’s all he could hope for. The relationship was fairly new so instead of a public outing, Theo opted to have Draco over at Nott Manor for lunch. Promptly at quarter ‘till one, Draco stepped into the flew and called out for Nott Manor. 

_ Look at this,  _

_ you half-breed! _

When Draco arrived he saw Theo frantically trying to talk himself off a ledge. He put an arm on Theo’s shoulder to try to calm him down, which didn’t help much. He spun around and proceeded to stare at Draco as if he had seen the ghost of his father.

“Theo, what the fuck is the matter?”

“He’s- he’s-”

“Well, spit the damn thing out!”

“He’s Muggleborn.”

“Yes. And…?”

“I am unaware if you’re still a right arse or not.”

“I fell for Hermione fucking Granger. If I gave a shite about the Mudblood crap do you think I would have spent until sunrise with her on Thursday morning?”

“You what? We have to discuss this later. What the fuck mate. Did your owl go missing? I expect to know of such revelations—promptly.”

The childhood friends made their way into the dining room where Mopsy had prepared a lovely light lunch. Almost forgetting Draco was meant to meet the mysterious guy Theo met while shopping a few months ago, he walked into the dining room laughing at an off handed remark Theo had just made. When the doors swung open, Draco saw a tall dark haired man rise from the table and move to greet him.

“Bronson. Baldric Bronson.”

“Pleasure, mate. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

In the two hours the three had had lunch, Draco learned that Bronson was in the process of opening his own restaurant in Diagon Alley. 

“Do you have a name yet?” Draco inquired about the restaurant.

“The Blackbird,” Bronson responded.

“If you’re looking for staff, I know Theo needs something to do all day.”

“Fortunately for Theo I already have staff. Found an American chick, Steph, that puts on this horrendous British accent and expects people to believe she’s from London.”

Draco laughed and as the conversation continued he also learned that just last year Bronson lost his childhood best friend, Quigley, in an accident. Quigley had apparently been involved in the Muggle mafia and was caught leaking information to a rival gang. He was immediately killed for disloyalty and what Bronson referred to as, “being a snitch.” 

“So just like that?” Draco questioned Bronson.

“Yeah, disloyalty is taken very seriously. None of them want a disloyal team member. Not even team members. Oddly enough, hiding from the government creates familial bonds. You don’t go behind the back of your family, especially not when it’s for selfish reasons.”

“Wow. He didn’t get any sort of mafia trial? They really just cut out his tongue and chained him to a cliff and let birds pick at his body? Like  Prometheus?” 

“The tongue was for snitching, but yeah, they really love their metaphors. Prometheus stole fire and gave it to humans; Quigley stole information on the whereabouts of mafia members in hiding and gave it to rival gang members. He claims he didn’t know they would get killed.”

“No disrespect. But that’s a load of shite.”

“Of course it is. Handing someone over to the side that wants to kill them is going to get them killed. He was an arse and a shithead for that one. Clearly did not think that through.”

Bidding the two farewell, Draco turned to wave before heading back into the floo to call out for his flat. It was obvious why Theo liked the guy. He was charming, funny, and overall smart. Blaise would love him as well, Draco was sure of it. But, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Hermione would love Bronson as well. He couldn’t stop thinking about that at all.

~*~

Vulgar as ever, Blaise divulged details of his most recent sexual escapades. Draco and Theo looked at each other with a knowing glance during the story knowing well the story itself lasted longer than he did. They let him revel in his fantasies. Blaise had yet to learn that things do not occur just because you think about them all day long. 

Narcissa was just positively horrified. 

Completely unaware of the room, Blaise continued his screenplay about the ménage à trois he  _ allegedly _ had the previous evening. The story itself was promising—for a Muggle adult movie store. But for Blaise? He could always write a movie script, fund the movie, and then cast himself in it. 

_ “Well, I’ll be goddamned!” _

_ he said _

_ “all in the same bed?" _

_ “Yes, sir, this In’di’n _

_ was grabbin’ white pussy _

_ all night!" _

_ "Shit, Chief.” _

Narcissa was the one to finally snap Blaise out of his self written erotic novel. Kindly suggesting that Blaise find a new career in the entertainment industry, she attempted to steer the conversation away from Blaise’s fantasy and her nightmare. Clearly unable to read the room that Saturday Blaise continued his ‘ _ story _ ’ as if he were listing out searchable tags on Muggle internet websites. Theo and Draco rolled their eyes as Blaise continued. As Mippy poured milk into their evening teacups, Blaise yammered on about this one girl was so tight he thought she was going to break his cock. Mippy yelped and dropped the milk causing it to spill everywhere.

“You made Mippy spill the fucking milk, mate.” Draco said angrily. 

Theo chimed in, “It was Mickey’s Milk too. It’s my fucking favorite and now it’s all over the mahogany and not in my teacup.”

Without missing a beat, Blaise continued to his storytelling of his fairytale escapades. Mippy couldn’t stand it anymore so she ran back to the kitchens to wait out the remainder of his stories with her best friend — Herman. Ever since Dobby died, Herman always wore his socks and no one was really sure why, this earned her the nickname  _ Sobby _ . 

“Mate, if I have to hear about your cock for another minute while I am trying to eat my soup I will lose it,” Draco finally spoke up.

“Seriously mate, go have a wank in the bathroom or something. It’s been forty five minutes.”

Sheepishly, Blaise removed himself from the dinner table and walked towards the Malfoy Manor first floor powder room. 

Theo laughed, “Who’s mopping his jizz off the floor?”

______________________________________________________________________________

_ And Then There Were None _ by Agatha Christie

She wasn’t there. For the first time in almost a year. She wasn’t there. Draco made his way to their bay window. Their? Yes. He could say it was their bay window. But, she wasn’t there. Reluctantly, Draco made his way back down the winding stairs and purchased a book to read before returning to the empty window. Barely an hour later, Draco rose and said goodbye to the Asier’s before returning to his flat. 

Days of moping passed and Pansy had quite enough of it. Saturday evening rolled around and Pansy convinced Draco to go out to dinner to enjoy himself instead of meeting his mum and the boys like usual.. For the end of February, the weather was nice and a simple warming charm would suffice for warmth. Pansy and Draco opted to eat outside on the patio at La Petite Grue en Papier. From the patio the friends had a great view of Diagon Alley; it was perfect for people watching. Pansy’s face immediately turned sour as they were sipping on their wine and discussing her latest business endeavor. Draco whipped his head around and that’s when he saw them.

_ Ten little Soldier boys went out to dine; _

_ One choked his little self and then there were Nine. _

Hermione was walking down the street. Her curls were bouncing as she stepped one foot in front of the other. Everything moved in slow motion. 

_ Nine little Soldier boys sat up very late; _

_ One overslept himself and then there were Eight. _

She was smiling. Clearly the daughter of dentists, her smile was perfect. It lit up her enter face. Hermione could break hearts with that smile. She was already breaking his. 

_ Eight little Soldier boys traveling in Devon; _

_ One said he’d stay there and then there were Seven. _

Her arm was looped in the crook of his. Not Draco’s. No. His. Ronald fucking Weasley. Hermione Granger was walking arm in arm with Ronald  _ ogar looking, daft headed, probably lasts even less than Blaise does, _ Weasley. 

_ Seven little Soldier boys chopping up sticks; _

_ One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six. _

Infectious laughter was all that Draco heard. Every other sound in Diagon Alley was drowned out by the sound of her laugh. It was a real laugh, not the kind of laugh one would use if whatever someone had said wasn’t all that funny. Ronald  _ small dick, meathead, probably hasn’t read a damn book in his life, _ Weasley made Hermione laugh. 

_ Six little Soldier boys playing with a hive; _

_ A bumblebee stung one and then there were Five. _

Draco couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned his head back to Pansy but it was already too late. His evening was shot. How could he have been so stupid? Of course she was dating the Weasel. 

_ Five little Soldier boys going in for law; _

_ One got into Chancery and then there were Four. _

Pansy grimaced again. Hermione, she could stand. Weasley? Absolutely not. Sensing that Draco was beginning to occlude, she grabbed his hand from across the table and gave it a big squeeze. 

_ Four little Soldier boys going out to sea; _

_ A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three. _

Holding onto Pansy’s hand helped. It kept Draco grounded. Pansy always knew exactly what to do when Draco found himself occluding. He knew that occluding would make everything worse later on but it was always a tempting option in the moment.

_ Three little Soldier boys walking in the zoo; _

_ A big bear hugged one and then there were Two. _

Hermione saw Draco. She dragged Ron over to the patio to say hello to Draco and by proxy, Pansy. Seeing the approaching couple, Pansy squeezed Draco’s hand tighter. A long night was ahead of Draco—a long night with copious amounts of firewhisky. 

_ Two little Soldier boys playing with a gun; _

_ One shot the other and then there was One. _

“It’s nice to see you, Malfoy,” Hermione spoke as if the words were being forced out of her. 

“You as well, Granger. You remember Pansy?”

“Of course, nice to see you again.” 

Draco nodded, “Weasley.”

“Malfoy,” Ron replied curtly. 

“I’m gonna get us a table ‘Mione,” Ron said as he kissed her temple and went inside. Hermione smiled and nodded, acknowledging his statement. 

_ One little Soldier boy left all alone; _

_ He went out and hanged himself  _

Pansy sensed Draco’s growing anxiety and stepped in on his behalf, “Well, Granger, it was lovely seeing you again. I hope you have a great evening.”

Hermione nodded, looking down at Pansy’s hand clasping Draco’s, “Same for the two of you.”

Ron exited the restaurant telling Hermione they didn’t have any tables left and that they should try to go somewhere else for dinner. Pansy overheard, “Nonsense, we were just leaving anyways, have our table.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione looked skeptical. 

“Positive,” Pansy replied and ushered for a waiter—she whispered in his ear to put their bill onto Draco’s tab and to seat Ron and Hermione at their table. 

Draco and Pansy stood to exit and thanked the waiter for his help. Draco put his arm around her and whispered thanks to her for getting them out of the restaurant smoothly and quickly. When they reached the street, Draco did what he told himself he wouldn’t and shouldn’t do, he looked back. They were seated at his favorite patio table, she looked happy. Happy with him.

_ And then there were none. _

~*~

He was an absolute fucking mess. Pansy removed his crystal scotch glass from his hands after his eighth glass of  The Macallan Sherry Oak 12 Years scotch. She knew he would regret finishing a $2,000 bottle on losing to Ron Weasley. She knew she should’ve forced him to drink firewhisky but he was adamant about opening Muggle scotch. 

Screaming and punching walls didn’t help him. Draco wanted to feel anything but the pain in his chest. All the air had left his lungs—it loomed over his lungs, heart, and throat causing immense pressure. Immense pain. He couldn’t breathe. Everything hurt. 

“Pans, I don’t know what to do.”

Pansy walked over to him and rubbed circles on his back, “Shh shhh Draco it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“I haven’t loved anyone since you.”

Without thinking, Draco grabbed the nape of Pansy’s neck and pulled her closer. He kissed her. It wasn’t a slow kiss or a passionate one—it was desperate. She kissed him back. All of his self doubts and insecurities were poured into the kiss. Seemingly more desperate, Draco began unbuttoning his shirt and he lifted Pansy’s sweater over her head. They made their way to the couch as the scotch and kisses continued to heat the moment. Pansy paused. 

“Draco. Draco, stop.”

Draco immediately paused and looked at Pansy, confusion in his eyes. Pansy could tell he was hurt, so she grabbed both sides of his face and looked him straight in the eyes.

“You don’t want this, Draco. You don’t want me. You don’t want this.”

Draco’s forehead fell against hers. They stayed like that for a few moments- resting their foreheads against one anothers. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” Draco painfully admitted. 

“Shh… Shh… Draco. You are not alone, Draco. I’m here. I’m always here.”

Without a second thought, Pansy grabbed Draco’s hand and led him up the stairs of his loft and to his bed. She undressed him and re-dressed him in pajamas. After tucking Draco under the covers, she found one of his t-shirts and slipped it over her head and climbed into bed next to him. He immediately held her close. In order to calm him down, Pansy charmed the ceiling to look like the night sky.

“Draco, look up. It’s your favorite — Lyra.”

Draco looked to the ceiling and replied, “Thank you, Pans.”

“You’ll always have Lyra on Saturdays.”

“Lyra on my ceiling so I’ll never have to be alone on Saturdays?”

“I’m here, Draco. You are not alone. You never have to be alone. Not ever again. I’m here.”

That’s how the two friends fell asleep—with Pansy held as close to Draco as their bodies would allow. She meant it. He would never have to be alone again. 

~*~

Wednesday came faster than Draco wanted it to. Refusing to break his routine, Draco walked up the stairs to his bay window. Was it his now? It didn’t feel like theirs anymore. As he approached, Draco noticed a package. Brown paper bag wrapping paper and a simple string tied off in a bow sat on the seat of the bay window. The closer he got, he realized it had to be a book.  _ Malfoy _ was written in simple cursive in between the string. Immediately, the string and the wrapping paper were on the floor and Draco held a copy of  _ And Then There Were None _ by Agatha Christie in his hands. Hermione. She dropped off a book for him. 

Slipping into his pre-Hermione routine, Draco opened the book and read in the evening glow. Everything felt like pre and post Hermione. Although a waxing moon signified intentions, Draco couldn’t seem to figure out Hermione’s. He saw more of her day side on Friday night. As the waxing moon illuminated him through the window, Draco couldn’t help but notice how wrong it felt to see the moon glow again when only a week ago they retrograded the shrinking illumination of this same moon. 

Was what everyone said about retrograde true? 

On his way out of Variabilis Books, he stopped to speak with Amanda and Irvin as he always did. They questioned him about Hermione’s whereabouts and he pretended his whole body didn’t sting. He felt like he was suffocating. Thomas J. Sennett rolled in his grave as Draco let Hermione control those bees. Thomas didn’t get stung for nothing, he was getting Vada’s mood ring. But, what was Draco getting stung for? Nothing heroic, that’s for sure. 

~*~

Decisions had to be made. It was Monday and Draco didn’t know if he could handle her not showing. But, he also didn’t know if he could handle seeing her again. After work, Draco laid on the floor with his record player next to him and listened to  _ The Misfits Box Se _ t—channeling his inner Lilo. If anyone asked, Draco would blame Pansy for dragging him to the Muggle cinema to see Lilo and Stitch when she visited him during his travels. Secretly, he loved the movie. 

From the floor, Draco looked out his window and stared at the moon just as he had every night before. Fuck the North Star, Draco hoped she was staring at the moon thinking of him too. He knew she wasn’t. Couldn’t. But, he hoped. The first quarter moon beckoned Draco to make a decision. Merlin, he needed Theo and Blaise to help get him off the sodding floor.

On cue with his thoughts, the floo roared, Theo and Blaise stepped into the living room of his flat. It took a few moments for Theo and Blaise to register what was occurring on the floor. 

“Now this has reached a whole new level of pathetic,” Blaise roared when he looked at the floor to find Draco next to a record player. 

“Get off the sodding floor, Draco. This is ridiculous,” Theo chimed in. 

Reluctantly, Draco paused the music and lifted himself off the cold wood floor. As always, the men headed out to their favorite pub. Whenever one of them needed a ‘pick me up’, they headed to the pub—drinking, playing pool, and playing darts. After a few rounds of beers and pool the Slytherins began to snack on peanuts before moving onto darts. 

Finally asking the question of the hour, Theo inquired, “What’d Granger do that had you on the fucking floor mate?”

Draco glared at him, “She’s fucking dating Weasley.”

Both Theo and Blaise looked confused. “You’re sure of this?” Blaise inquired before taking another sip of his beer.

“I saw him kissing her fucking temple. They’re together,” Draco contorted. 

Theo threw his dart and responded, “He’s way too big for his boots, mate.” 

“Shite, I’m sorry.” Blaise responded before quickly grabbing the edge of the bar counter and grasping his chest. 

“Fuck, Blaise. Is it your heart again?” Theo asked while clearly worried.

Blaise nodded before taking a seat in the bar stool next to him. He stayed like this, one hand on his chest and the other grasping the counter, for a few minutes. Theo and Draco continued to exchange worried looks, knowing that Blaise had heart issues ever since they were kids. Sometimes Blaise’s arrhythmia landed him in St. Mungos for extended periods of time. Unfortunately, there were some things magic couldn’t fix. 

Once Blaise got his heart rate under control the men decided to call it a night. After flooing back to Draco’s flat, they all bid one another their farewells. After Blaise floo’d back to Zabini Manor, Theo walked over to Draco who was conveniently pouring himself another drink.

“I’m really sorry about Granger, mate.”

“Thanks, Theo.”

“What’re you going to do now?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“You like her that fucking much? Already?”

“You haven’t seen the way she lights up a room.”

“Like the sun?”

“No you fucking arse. Like the moon. She’s the fucking moon. She’s the moonlight on a river.”

“I think that answers my question, you big fucking sap.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t write love poems to Bronson.”

Theo turned a bright shade of red, “Besides the point mate.”

“And the point is?”

“Go catch the moon.”

Theo let himself out and Draco sank into his bed and opened up his copy of  _ And Then There Were None _ alongside his book of Bukowski poems. He flipped through the poems until finding the perfect one to copy onto the cover page of his murder mystery. 

_ And The Moon and The Stars and The World _

_ Long walks at night- _

_ that’s what good for the soul _

_ peeking into windows _

_ watching tired housewives _

_ trying to fight off _

_ their beer-maddended husbands _

_ \- Charles Bukowksi _

~*~

Instead of going home after work like he normally did on a Tuesday evening, Draco headed to Variabilis Books. The Asier’s were surprised to see Draco on a Tuesday but greeted him with a big smile without questioning his early arrival. Draco headed up to his bay window and deposited a piece of cardstock in the center of the cushions before promptly heading back downstairs and out the door to return to his flat. 

__

_ Think I deserve Azkaban, Granger? _

__

Seeing her again wasn’t an option. He couldn’t bear it. Draco’s inability to see the girl he had fallen for reading a book led him to deviate from his routine and read in the bay window during his lunch break on Wednesday. Instead of having a casual lunch with his mother like he normally did at lunch, Draco walked into Variabilis and waved to the Asier’s. Slightly confused at the smug looks on their faces, Draco headed for the stairs. Upon arriving at the bay window, book in tow, Draco noticed cardstock sitting on the cushions. He didn’t think anything of it.  _ She hasn’t been here yet _ , he thought. As he was about to sit down, he noticed the handwriting on the cardstock wasn’t his own.

__

_ The murderer must always pay for their deed. _

__

Cringing, but deeming this necessary, Draco ripped a piece of paper out of his brand new book and transfigured it into cardstock. He always carried a pen on him when he was out in Muggle London; they were much easier than ink and a quill. It took a few minutes for Draco to figure out how he intended to respond to her note. 

__

_ Think I’ve got something in common with Wargrave? I didn’t actually kill Dumbledore; you know that right? Well- -guess Wargrave didn’t actually kill Seton either. The old bastard was as good as dead with or without me in that damn tower. But, you already knew that.  _

__

Pleased with his response, Draco opened his book and began to read for the next forty-five minutes. Work dragged on for the remainder of the day and Draco was itching to go back to his flat and definitely not think about Hermione for the rest of his evening. Still unable to bear the thought of having to face her, heartbroken and humiliated, he went back to his flat straight after work on a Wednesday for the first time in over a year. The sun set and the moon rose while Draco attempted to read. He couldn’t. Reading in the moonlight didn’t feel right. Not unless it was at Variabilis, especially on a Wednesday. For over an hour Draco contemplated going to the bookshop or not. Begrudgingly, he grabbed his coat and headed for his bay window. 

When Draco arrived, it was close to closing but he knew the Asier’s always stayed well past closing and never minded him reading upstairs. They gave him another smug look on his way up the stairs; he couldn’t figure out why. Until he saw her. She was reading in the moonlight and she looked beautiful. Hermione was wearing her damn converse again with denims, no rips this time, and her  _ Misfits _ t-shirt. He would’ve thought about how he had encountered another cliche but he couldn’t stop staring at the way the moon lit up her eyes in a way the sun wishes it could. Hermione’s eyes were still the amber Draco had always known but the moonlight caused the amber to darken- to reflect a deep orange so rich it looked like fire.  _ Fires always burnt brightest when next to the moon _ , he thought. Her eyes were made from the sparks of a midnight fire.

“I’d say you’re more of a William Blore,” Hermione interrupted his train of thought.

“Now who did I plant fake evidence on, condemning them to their death?”

“Well, you can’t look at it so literally, Malfoy.”

“Pray tell, Granger.”

“Fake evidence could mean lots of things.”

“Again… pray tell, Granger.”

“Fake evidence. False signals. Incorrect messages. It’s the same thing once it’s all boiled down.”

“And who have I been sending what you call ‘false signals’ and ‘mixed messages’?”

“Me.”

Draco strode over to Hermione and rested one hand against the window frame, effectively towering over her. “And how have I been doing that?” 

“Parkinson.”

“What about Pans?”

“I didn’t know you two were still together. Quite frankly, I’m impressed you’ve been with the same girl since 16.”

“Pardon me, but, what the fuck are you on about?”

“At La Petite Grue en Papier, we ran into each other.”

“Yes, while you were on your date with Weasley.”

Hermione laughed, “Gods no. Ron and I broke up years ago. We broke up around the same time Harry and Ginny did.”

“Do you regularly get kissed by your ex-boyfriends?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“He kissed you. On the temple.”

“I didn’t even notice, honestly.” Hermione collected her things and snuck underneath Dracos outstretched arm, “I better be going, but I hope you enjoyed your date with Parkinson. Tell her hello for me, would you?”

As Hermione walked away, Draco abruptly grabbed her arm. “Pans and I haven’t been together since we both left the country after the war.”

This confession made Hermione spin around, “Do you make it a habit to hold hands with all your ex-girlfriends?” Hermione smirked as the sarcasm dripped from her tongue.

Taking in a deep breath and preparing himself for his next statement, “Pansy grabs my hand and squeezes it every time she notices me trying to occlude.”

Hermione was dumbfounded. She stared at Draco with her jaw unhinged. Draco walked forward, causing Hermione to stumble backwards. 

With every step Draco spoke, “I. Haven’t. Dated. Pansy. Since. I. Was. A. Teenager.”

Colliding with the bookshelf behind her, Hermione gasped and looked up at Draco. Hermione was over a head shorter than him causing Draco to place one hand on the bookshelf and learn towards her. They stared into one another's eyes as their breathes hitched. Her eyes were definitely on fire. His eyes felt like they might be too.

Draco looked at the books surrounding them and noticed an interesting title,  _ Constellations and Roses _ by Brita Swift. Romance novels, everywhere. He laughed. How fucking cliche. For the first time, Draco didn’t care about being a cliche. He embraced it.

“Sod it,” Draco exhaled before placing his other hand to rest on the side of Hermione’s face.

He leaned in and he kissed her. Fireworks erupted, he knew they would. Without missing a beat, Hermione matched his pace and threw her arms around his neck. Ember may have created her eyes, but, together they created a wildfire. They were self proclaimed pyromaniacs. Fixated purely on the euphoria between them, they deepened their kiss. Draco and Hermione burned through their pasts. The fire cleansed them, removing all impurities. It refined them, just as the moon did. A waxing gibbous. Draco wasn’t wrong, fire looked much better in the moonlight.

Santa Ana winds picked up and their fire blazed on. Draco moved his hand off the bookshelf and grabbed the nape of Hermione’s neck. Her head fell back against the books as she moaned into his mouth. This only encouraged Draco more. Seizing the opportunity, Draco entangled his tongue with hers. What they created wasn’t a smolder. It was a flare. Smoke didn’t surround them just, the pyromaniacs’ dream, the flames of inferno.

  
  



	2. Perihelic Opposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my incredible beta miss @tomridswhorcrux! She really was my hero today.I couldn't have done this without her.
> 
> TW // Very brief mention of suicidal thoughts. Nothing is described in detail or depicted graphically.

Draco came up for air first. He put his hand back against the books, panting, he placed his forehead on top of Hermione’s curls. It was intimate. Maybe too intimate? Portugese filled his ears, his lungs, and his heart. He was in Rio; the samba had returned. It was different this time, the beat started off slow as his breathing returned to normal. Percussion didn’t take over. The rhythm remained steady. _Água de Beber_ by Quarteto Jobim-Morelenbaum moved through his body in B minor. Something was different. Almost off. It was subtle, but something was off. Instead of beating to Jobim’s 82 beats per minute in A minor, he sambaed with the increased tempo of 150bpm. Even with the increased tempo, he remained in control. Bossa Nova turned into a smooth Jazz as the tenor sax shined through its solo. This dance—Draco could move with Hermione to for the rest of his life. It was calming, that’s what was different, he was calm.

Hermione spoke first smiling, “And then there were Two.”

Draco grinned and leaned in to whisper, “And then there was One,” and he kissed her again. 

A tenor sax solo guided their second kiss. Running his hands along her body, Draco played the saxophone pearls, his slender hands using firm pressure when he wanted the octave key to soar but light when he wanted to loosen the ligature and allow the reed to vibrate freely. 

_It had come about_

_exactly in the way_

_things happened in books._

Post kiss, the pair walked out of Variabilis towards the apparition point. Draco and Hermione walked closer than they ever had before while still remaining apart. Silence filled their steps, it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. No. It was a silence of questions left unasked and moments to remain unharmed by potential harsh truths. 

Once they reached the apparition point, Hermione’s curls spun as she turned to say goodbye, “See you next Wednesday?”

“How about Tuesday? There’s a new restaurant opening in Diagon Alley.” 

“What time?”

“Eight?”

“Eight works. What’s the place called?”

“The Blackbird?”

“I _love_ that Beatles song.”

“I knew you would. Goodnight, Granger.”

~*~

Without missing a beat, Draco returned home and immediately floo’d to Nott Manor. The whole place was dark when Draco arrived; he immediately walked into Theo’s bedroom.

“Theo. Theo. Get the fuck up.”

Theo stirred and rolled over in bed—as well as another body. Theo sat up and rubbed his eyes, clearly confused. 

“Draco, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’ll tell you once we are at Blaise’s. We have to hurry so get your shit and get the fuck up.”

Theo rose from the bed and went to throw on pants and a shirt. His pace was groggy and Draco rocked back and forth on his heels waiting.

“Oh, Bronson. I’m going to need a reservation for two for Tuesday. Think you can get me the nicest table?”

“At Blackbird?”

“That is why I’m asking _you_.”

In more time than Draco would have liked, Theo arrived at his side, clothed and ready to floo to Zabini Manor. Both the men bid Bronson a farewell and promptly entered the floo. Blaise was in the sitting room, _not lasting_ , when Draco and Theo arrived. 

After Blaise situated himself and joined his friends in the foyer he asked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I kissed Granger,” Draco nearly jumped with excitement. 

At the same time Theo and Blaise replied, “You did what?”

“I went to Variabilis tonight and while I was there Granger and I kissed and we’re going to dinner together at The Blackbird on Tuesday night.”

“I feel like Steph, but, tell us everything,” Blaise remarked after pouring the men some firewhisky to celebrate. 

Draco looked at Blaise with a confused expression, “Who the fuck is Steph?”

“From The Blackbird.”

It was Theo’s turn to be confused, “How do you know Bronson’s employee?”

“We’ve been fucking,” Blaise shrugged his shoulders.

“When the fuck did this happen and why haven’t you told either of us?” Draco inquired. 

“I did. I told you two at the dinner where Mippy spilled the milk.”

Theo gasped, “That was real?”

“Yeah, the ménage à trois, it was fantastic. I’ve been seeing her casually since. Her fake British accent is honestly, hot?”

Draco looked at Theo who looked at Draco. A thousand words exchanged between glances. They were going to the source to confirm this one—Bronson.

“You _still_ don’t believe me. Dicks.”

The three erupted in laughter and Draco filled them in on everything happening with Hermione. He made sure to leave the cliche moments out because Blaise was meant to be the laughing stock of the emerald trio and he intended to keep it that way.

~*~

Lunch with Narcissa always included tea. She absolutely loved tea. Couldn’t go a moment without it. When Draco floo’d into Malfoy Manor to see his mother for lunch, Mippy promptly greeted him and show him to the small dining room. Narcissa stood to greet her son, giving him a hug and kiss on the cheek, before gesturing for him to join her at the table.

“How have you been, my dragon?”

“You were meant to stop calling me that ages ago mother.”

“You will always be my dragon.”

Sipping on his tea Draco replied, “I’ve been well.”

“Just well?” Narcissa lifted the teacup to her lips before smirking.

“I've been _really_ well. Is that what you’d like to hear?”

After setting down her cup Narcissa inquired, “Shall I be expecting a date on your arm for the Summer Solstice Ball?”

Draco nearly choked on his tea. Setting down his cup and patting his lips with his napkin he replied, “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“Blaise tells me more than you know. He comes around quite often.”

“Godric please tell me you aren’t _spending time_ with Blaise.”

Narcissa let out a laugh, “Merlin, no. He’s in need of a mother right now. His heart is getting worse as you’re well aware. He’s been seeing some American girl. Steph? I think it was Steph.”

“So he’s really not lying about that one?”

“He’s not. I’ve invited them over for tea tomorrow. He really likes this one. I also met Bronson over the weekend. Theo is incredibly happy, it makes me happy.”

“Yeah, I really like Bronson. He’s good for Theo.”

As Mippy brought out their cottage pies Narcissa inquired further, “Are you going to tell me about her or am I going to have to find out everything from Thing 1 and Thing 2?”

Draco groaned as he poked at his pie, “How much do you know?”

“Enough to be disappointed you haven’t come to me sooner.”

Draco dropped his head into his hands and whispered, “You’d be disappointed either way.”

Narcissa reached across the table to grab Draco’s hands, causing him to look up at her, “I know what you’re thinking. I’m not disappointed. Draco—look at me. You need to be the one to say it. It’s okay. It’s okay, my dragon,”

“I fell for Hermione Granger.”

The chair slid against the wooden floors. Narcissa rose from her seat and walked to Draco and gestured for him to stand as well. Finally she spoke, “I hope she catches you.”

~*~

Pansy arrived at Draco’s flat on Sunday afternoon to choose his outfit for Tuesday. Draco insisted he could choose clothing on his own, Pansy vehemently disagreed. It took nearly two hours of sifting through Draco’s _colorful_ wardrobe to land on the Draco classic—black slacks, a black button up, and a black suit jacket. 

“Draco, I’m absolutely famished,” Pansy drew the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed.

“Okay, Daisy Buchanan.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing, Pans.”

“Granger?”

“Granger.”

Instead of getting the usual French cuisine, Draco and Pansy opted to try a new restaurant instead. The Malford. It was a ‘hole in the wall’, much to Pansy’s dismay, but the food was delicious. Draco opted to order their Neo Margarita pizza, a twist on the classic margarita pizza, it featured san marzano ‘polpa’, fior di latte, basil crumb, parmigiano, and basil. In the spirit of venturing out, Pansy opted for the Fungi pizza, which was topped with seasonal mushrooms, fontina, and carmelized onions. 

The childhood friends turned lovers turned friends again chatted as they walked along the sidewalk eating their strawberry ice creams. Strawberry was Draco’s favorite, and it was Pansy’s too, although Draco was convinced it was just because of the color. 

Quite abruptly, a man bumped into Draco’s shoulder on the street causing him to look back. A display outside a bookshop he’d never patronized before caught his eye. Bright pink hair. Once he turned around to continue walking he couldn’t remember the name of the author. All he remembered was her hair. Something about a rock? A tree? He couldn’t be certain. _Peculiar name but I’m also named Draco Malfoy so I can’t be one to judge_ , he thought.

Draco held his breath, stretching all his scars, and continued forward. No matter how many times he told himself last year to continue walking up those stairs, to not look back, he did anyways. This time, he’d finally have to stop looking back. She was right in front of him. 

~*~

On March 14, 2006, the night sky was illuminated by the full moon. Draco stood outside The Blackbird waiting for Hermione. In the first quarter, he’d made his decision. Under the full moon, Draco set his intentions. As the clock struck eight, Merlin he was a fucking cliche, he saw her. Hermione wore a floor-length sleeveless dress with silver embellishments that laid perfectly embroidered on a sheer fabric. Her nude slip beneath the fabric followed the curves in her frame. Her back was exposed, not too low, but just enough so Draco could see the dip in her spine. The u-shaped neckline exposed her collarbones and a modest amount of cleavage. 

__

_She looks like the moon_ , was Draco’s first thought.

__

In an attempt not to stutter Draco cleared his throat, “You look beautiful, Granger.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned rosy. A rose. Yes, an absolute rose. She smiled, “Thanks, Malfoy. You look quite good in a suit.”

When the two walked into The Blackbird for their first real date, Steph greeted them. Quickly searching for Bronson, Draco looked around the room but was unsuccessful in locating him.

“Malfoy for two,” Draco told the maître d.

Steph laughed which confused Draco, “Steph. It’s nice to finally meet you, Draco.”

“Damn. So, it really is true?”

As Steph walked them to their table she commented, “When you see Narcissa again please give her my best.”

Just loud enough for the three of them to hear Draco whispered, “If you said ‘Ello governor I love tea and crumpets’ you might sound more British than you do right now.”

Hermione burst out laughing. Before containing herself, she snorted. As they reached the back of the restaurant, where they would be seated, Steph placed their menus on the table.

Just as she was about to leave, Hermione whispered in Steph’s ear, “Whoever you’re fucking, for your sake, I hope they like the bedroom to be avant garde.”

Bronson had clearly gone above and beyond for their reservation. Their private room mimicked a wine cellar, with hundreds of wine bottles placed within the wall. The one glass door was delicately frosted and complimented the decorum of the room.

“Wow, Malfoy, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“You’ve _never_ been in a private room before, old sport?”

Hermione giggled, “You’d make a good Gatsby.”

Draco pretended to be offended, “How dare you make such a rude comparison.”

Just as Hermione was asking Draco about what he recommended, Bronson entered their private room to check in on them and ensure they were enjoying the restaurant. 

“Bronson, I’d love for you to meet Hermione Granger. Granger, this is my best friend's boyfriend, Bronson. He’s the owner and head chef.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Bronson.”

“Likewise, cupcake.”

Draco turned to Hermione and asked, “Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

“If it walks, I won’t eat it. Other than that, I’ll eat anything”

“Perfect,” Draco turned to Bronson, “We’ll take a bottle of the Goût de Diamants and give us four courses to pair with that please.”

Slightly baffled at the request Bronson replied, “Of course, Draco. Theo always says you never fail to surprise him. I’ll have to let him know that I agree.”

A server poured Draco and Hermione their champagne and promptly left the bottle on a side table in the corner of their room. Once the server was out of ear shot, Hermione leaned in and asked, “Is that a _Swarovski crystal_ embedded into the bottle?”

“It is.”

“Draco—what does Goût de Diamants mean in English?”

“Taste of Diamonds.”

Hermione nearly fell out of her seat. It took a moment before she could find the words, “This bottle is worth what? 1 million pounds? 1.2 million?”

“1.5 million. But, who's counting,” Draco said nonchalantly. 

Hermione gasped, “I can’t afford this nor accept this.”

“Hermione, relax, it’s my treat. This won’t hurt my vaults I assure you.”

Before Hermione could retort, a server brought out their first course. They drank expensive champagne and ate glazed beet and burrata toast. The server explained to them that Bronson boiled the beets and then cooked them again in sherry vinegar and sugar. Their second course consisted of a chilled peach soup with fresh goat cheese. Bronson used peaches marinated with dried apricots, honey, vinegar and olive oil before pureeing the mixture into the base of the soup.

Bronson curated a delicate lobster pasta served in a creamy red sauce for their third course. The sauce consisted of three whole garlic cloves, taken out before adding the noodles, cherry tomatoes, salt, pepper, basil, lobster, and his personal secret tomato sauce base.

Conversation flowed easily through their first three courses. Their souls were created from the fabric of the universe, tied together, potentially by the same star. Somehow, a star grew the atoms that lived in both of them. The natural pull they felt made sense; they were made up of the same stardust. The moon looked out for her children, giving them space to grow and pulling them together when they were ready for one another. She hid their scars within her lava fields—maria latin for sea. Four billion years ago, the moon suffered a trauma much like the lovers sipping champagne, giant asteroids burrowed holes into her crust. The fragile molten rock bubbled to the surface so it could cool and harden, protecting herself, just as Draco and Hermione had to all those years ago. No one faulted the moon for doing what she needed to keep herself safe, her craters added to her beauty, the same way the moon understood Draco and Hermione kept themselves safe—the scars floating across their skin only added to their beauty. 

Taking a sip of his last glass of champagne, Draco grabbed the chocolate covered strawberry in front of him and whispered, “Open up, Granger.”

Hermione giggled and obliged. The delicate and hardened dark chocolate landed on her tongue, crackling between the weight of her teeth, while the fresh strawberry filled her mouth with a refreshing sweetness. 

“Draco, open your mouth.” Hermione placed the dessert on his tongue and watched as he bit down, still holding the strawberry stem between her fingers. She shuttered. 

On their way out, Draco and Hermione made sure to thank Bronson for a lovely evening and wave a friendly goodbye to Steph. In true gentlemanly fashion, Draco guided Hermione down the streets of Diagon Alley with his hand barely gracing the skin on her back. They walked all the way back to her flat in the Wizarding part of London. Once again, Draco put his jacket around Hermione to keep her warm.

“Are you sure?”

“I can last without a suit jacket for awhile, you look like you’re freezing. Take it. It’s yours.”

Hermione hugged Draco’s suit jacket around herself until they reached the door for her flat. Hermione lived in a beautiful Victorian flat on the outskirts of Wizarding London. She preferred to be adjacent to ‘the action’ as she called it. Unravelling herself, Hermione handed Draco’s suit jacket back to him. 

After putting on his suit jacket, Draco looked down to stare into Hermione’s eyes. Fire. Fire in the moonlight again. It was then that Draco realized he was standing at her doorstep, looking into her eyes, wanting to kiss her. A fucking cliche. What a fucking cliche.

“I had a wonderful time together Hermione,” before her parted lips could utter a syllable, Draco leaned in and kissed her.

Supernova. Kissing her felt like a supernova. Light and colors burst around them as they exploded. Draco and Hermione had one thing that a supernova didn’t—this was their beginning and not their end.

______________________________________________________________________________

 _The Catcher in the Rye_ by J.D. Salinger 

Work dragged on. Draco kept looking at the clock, counting down the minutes until he could leave work and make his way to Variabilis. Without bidding his co-workers farewell, Draco bolted out the door, and went to his flat to change out of his work clothes. Keeping it casual, he changed into dress trousers and a black button up shirt. His Malfoy signet ring remained on his ring finger. 

Hermione was waiting for him in _their_ bay window when he ascended the stairsteps. A brown paper package tied off with twine was sitting next to her. Draco watched her look out the window, he hoped she was staring at the moon, she looked beautiful. For years, Draco wished someone would smile when they saw him. She didn’t just smile, all her features lit up and her eyes turned to flames. Sadly, Draco didn’t notice. He was too mesmerized by her to notice that he was the only person she smiled like this for. 

Hermione extended her arm, “I think you’re really going to like this one.”

Like a wizard getting their first wand, Draco tore open the packaging, “ _The Catcher in the Rye_ by J.D. Salinger?”

They sat together, squished against the bay window, and read for hours. Occasionally, one would look up to check on the other. Neither noticed. It wasn’t until Hermione drifted her attention to the window that conversation struck.

Longingly, Hermione looked outside with her head rested against the window, “Do you ever look at the moon?”

A slight blush rose to his cheeks while his lips turned upward just slightly, “All the time, Granger.” 

For the first time, Hermione turned her head and leaned in to kiss Draco. It was faint, but there was a sound, it wasn’t Portugese. It was French. The music flowed at an 11A camelot; in all honesty, Draco stopped feeling the beat through his body. All he felt were the words.

_Dans mon esprit tout divague_ _In my mind everything goes wild_

 _Je me perds dans tes yeux_ _I lose myself in your eyes_

 _Je me noie dans la vague_ _I drown myself in the vagueness_

_de ton regard amoureux_ _Of your loving gaze_

_I only want your soul_

_Going wild in my skin_

For the first time, Draco fell in love with the sound. The magical being, that is time, stopped for them. He gave them what others sought more of for centuries. Time understood what he had taken from them years ago, and allowed them mere minutes of what they had missed. 

Once time had revoked his small gift, Hermione came up for air in between kisses, “Take. Me. Home.”

Pulling away to look at her Draco responded, “Y—You want to come to my flat?”

Hermione nodded and stood, grabbing his hand to tug him along. Draco followed, one hand clutching hers and the other his book. Neither bothered to look for the Asier’s to say goodbye. Hermione made a left turn after exiting Variabilis. Before she could get too far, Draco grabbed the tips of her fingers, causing Hermione’s curls to spin while she turned her head to look back at him. Clearly puzzled, she waited for him to speak.

Draco cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, “It’s a right. To get to my flat. It’s towards the right and not the left.”

“But the apparition point is that way,” Hermione pointed in the direction she was previously headed. 

“I know,” Draco replied sheepishly. 

The walk from Variabilis to Draco’s flat passed quickly. They arrived at the entrance of Draco’s building, The Blur, when Hermione stood flabbergasted. 

“You live in Knightsbridge? Y—You live in Muggle London?”

Draco nodded, and Hermione withheld her inquiry. By the time Draco’s door opened, they had tangled their limbs. Orange walls and a zebra printed couch wouldn’t have caught Hermione’s eye. Nothing mattered. Nothing except them. 

A fucking cliche. Of course, another fucking cliche. Draco allowed himself the thought for only a moment as shoes were kicked off and outer coats left on the stairs leading to his bed. Gracefully, Hermione fell on top of his king sized bed. She watched as he unbuttoned his shirt at the foot of the bed before climbing towards her. Draco’s hands laid on either side of her head when he leaned down to kiss her again. 

Slowly, Draco kissed either side of her jaw causing Hermione to tilt her head back, exposing her neck to him. Every kiss left on her neck, throat, and clavicle was unhurried. Although time didn’t grant them any extra moments, Draco didn’t want to rush. He wanted to remember this. 

Hermione felt a cold rush as Draco placed his hand on the side of her neck. The Malfoy signet ring caused goosebumps to radiate throughout her body. Slightly gracing her sides, Draco slid his fingers just under the hem of her shirt. Hermione nodded, giving him permission to remove it. Slender fingers lightly floated over her while her shirt found its proper place on the floor. Leaning back to fully look at her, Draco cussed under his breath. 

“Hermione, you are so fucking beautiful,” were the last words that flowed from his lips before they set out on a more important task. 

Teasing her, Draco graced his fingers over her silk bra. Immediately, her nipples hardened as she moaned. Hermione arched her back, signaling Draco to remove her bra. He didn’t oblige. Instead, he kneaded her breasts while licking and sucking at the junction between her shoulder and neck. Hermione’s moans only encouraged him further. After adequately devouring her neck and shoulders, Draco moved towards her breasts and began sucking her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Giving in to her arch, Draco unclasped her bra with one hand and threw it across the room. 

As Draco looked down at a bare chested Hermione, he whispered to himself, “Putain, tu es céleste, toi.” 

Not even caring what he said, Hermione moaned hearing the French pour from his lips. In response, she grabbed his face, pulling him closer for a kiss. Neither of their tongues danced, their hands were too busy exploring one another's body for them to waltz. 

Ensuring pleasure, Draco slowly pulled off her skirt and knickers. He lowered himself down and whispered in her ear, “Je veux te goûter.”

Hermione shivered against the soft bamboo sheets. Draco sensually bit and tugged Hermione’s earlobe while his hot breath sent shivers down her spine. A trail of hot kisses covered her body. Instead of playing anymore with her breasts, Draco let his hot breath cause Hermione to vibrate in anticipation. 

Before continuing, he looked up at her seeking final approval. Her eager nod gave Draco everything he needed. Letting up on the teasing, Draco immediately sucked on her clit causing Hermione to gasp. With one hand, he held her hips down, and the other stroked the inside of her thigh as he worked at her clit. 

“La meilleure chose que j'ai jamais goûtée,” Draco moaned against her clit. 

The combination of Draco’s words and expert tongue drove Hermione wild. Her hair was spread out all over the pillow, skin flushed from pleasure, and body on fire. Once he slid two fingers inside of her, curling them and gently stroking her g-spot, she reached her climax. The bucking of her hips and increased moans signaled to Draco she was close. 

Without letting up on the speed of his fingers or pattern of his tongue, Draco moaned against her, sending shockwaves throughout her body, “Jouie pour moi.”

Draco let Hermione fuck herself against his fingers as he continued lapping his tongue while she rode out the tailend of her climax. Before Draco could speak, Hermione attacked his neck. She marked the spot just behind his ear, under his jawline, and against his shoulders. His trousers were still on and she could feel _how hard_ he was against her thigh. Carefully, she slid her hands down his Michelangelo sculpted torso, and unbuckled his belt. Metal clanked against the floor while Hermione was palming Draco’s cock. He couldn’t help but roll his hips into her hand, he was _aching_. 

Eye contact and a nod signaled Draco to remove his trousers and boxer briefs. A sudden gasp caused Draco to panic. He knew he was big; he had always known he was big. But, Hermione was smaller than any woman he’d ever been with before.

Meeting his eyes Hermione spoke, “You’re just—huge.”

Draco chuckled, there had been a few women who couldn’t handle eleven inches. He never faulted them but it always reminded him of the jingle Pansy would sing to him in 6th year to try to make him laugh. 

“We can stop. We don’t have to continue.” 

“No—no. I want this. I’ve never been with anyone as big as you before.”

“It’s an honor to be your first,” he smirked.

Easing back into their rhythm, they kissed sloppily. Nothing about their kiss was rushed, it was slow and messy—like they had a lifetime together to enjoy this kiss. To ensure Hermione could take him, Draco pumped his fingers in and out of her before lining himself up. As the tip of his cock entered Hermione, both of their moans echoed off one another. He paused a few times to allow her to adjust to his size. Once he finally reached the hilt, he felt pure bliss. 

“Is this okay for you?” Draco asked.

Hermione nodded, “Yeah, you can move.”

The pace was slow and deliberate. Each stroke ended in a louder gasp from Hermione and a guttural moan erupted from the back of Draco’s throat. Their eyes stayed locked on one another's except for the occasional moan that caused their heads to tilt back. Quite quickly, Hermione’s eyes went wide and she shattered beneath him. Never letting up, Draco continued to fuck her through her orgasm. 

Growing closer himself, Draco’s hand rested against Hermione’s cheek while his thumb moved back and forth over her bottom lip. With every stroke, the cool rush of the signet ring against her caused Hermione to shudder. 

1,000 words would never capture how beautiful Hermione looked beneath him. No amount of words could do her justice. Flushed skin, wild and tangled hair, sweat lining her forehead, lips parted, and eyes wide—Draco didn’t think anyone could possibly become more perfect, more beautiful. Not even a picture could do her beauty justice. 

Sliding his hand between them, Draco shifted his signet ring, and pressed it against her clit. With one finger, Draco pressed his family crest against Hermione’s cunt, with another he applied pressure to the sensitive skin and nerves around where his cock slid in and out of her. 

He whispered, “Allez, un de plus pour moi.”

No one could be sure if it was the ring or the romance language dripping from his tongue, but Hermione came for a third time that evening. Draco tried to last through her orgasm, to let her ride it out for as long as possible, but he couldn’t.

Hermione moaned, “Draco.”

One word. One word caused Draco to look into her ears and bear his soul to him—to let her see the pure ecstasy she gave him. “Fuck, Hermione,” Draco came with a shout while staring into the eyes where flames roared with no sign of cease fire. 

Panting, Draco kissed her forehead and rolled off of Hermione. For a moment, both of them stared at the ceiling. 

They allowed their bodies to disintegrate, to return to the atoms that formed them. Together, they were bodies of stardust, pressed together but not by force. Once fully intertwined, the hydrogen and helium compressing inside them created a beautiful array of colors. Everywhere. Cosmic rays blended all of their pasts, fusing together, they created interstellar gas. This was their beginning.

Without saying a word, Draco rolled over to grab his wand before changing charming the ceiling above them into the night sky. He added the moon and the stars, Draco and Lyra, before finally adding the constellation Delphinus. 

Hermione inquired, “Delphinus?”

“Delphin was Poseidon's messenger.”

Accepting she’d have to inquire about yet another thing later, Hermione nodded and headed towards his restroom. “Mind if I have a shower?” 

“Of course. The towels are in the—”

“Care to join me?”

Draco nodded before following Hermione into the shower. As he was putting on boxer briefs again, preparing to sleep, he assumed Hermione was going to get dressed and head to her flat. Nothing sounded better than her falling asleep in his arms. Realistic. He told himself. You have to be realistic. To his surprise, Hermione sheepishly asked to borrow a shirt. Ecstatic, Draco grabbed her one of his black t-shirts before sliding into bed. 

Their bodies fit perfectly together, like the Earth and moon in orbit, never to be separated. He held her close, almost afraid that if he didn’t he would wake up from this dream. Every moment where Draco didn’t know what the future held was worth it, having Hermione fall asleep in his arms made every shite day in the war worth it. 

As he woke on Thursday, Draco kissed Hermione’s forehead while she was still fast asleep. He smiled against her curls as she lightly twitched in her sleep. Although the waning gibbous moon wouldn’t take over for the sun, lighting the sky, for many hours, Draco couldn’t help but thank the cosmos. Gratitude. Draco Malfoy felt fucking grateful. 

Slowly waking up and turning around to face him, Hermione smiled at Draco. Her freckles kissed her nose and cheeks while the flames never left her eyes. He couldn’t help but smile back. He was fucking grateful. 

“Good morning, Draco.”

~*~

Saturday morning consisted of Draco wandering the streets of London in search of a record shop. The air was warm for late March so the streets were packed. Everyone was enjoying the rare sunny day. Stoke Newington wasn’t Dracos usual neighborhood of choice but he knew the shops would have the kinds of records he was looking for. 

After an hour of wandering, Draco stumbled upon the exact type of store he was looking for. The shop window was lined with records so old they looked like they had been well loved by someone’s dad in the 70s. Draco looked up at the sign before entering, Research Purposes, he laughed at the name. It was kind of perfect. 

He thumbed through the hundreds of records inside the small shop until he found the records he was searching for. Draco chose to purchase four records, four seemed like a great number. The first album he picked up was the self titled album _The Beatles._

Inside the shop, a record played while customers browsed. Draco hadn’t heard any of the songs before. The alternative rock flooded his ears with drums, keyboards, and guitars. He couldn’t help but wander to the cashier to inquire about the music, “Excuse me, uhm, Jas,” Draco checked her nametag and then continued, “What’s the name of the album playing?”

Jas replied, “Oh, that’s _Abattoir Blues / The Lyre of Orpheus_.”

Draco nodded and turned to find the record amongst the stacks. His next decision was harder than the first two. Draco wanted to branch out and he wouldn’t allow himself to buy two records from the same band. Finally, he settled on Queen’s _Night At The Opera_ . It only had five songs on the album, but this choice was the easiest for Draco, he plucked _Wish You Were Here_ by Pink Floyd from the stacks and headed towards Jas to pay. 

Returning to his roots, Draco pulled the record from it’s sleeve and placed the album on the platter before moving the tonearm to let the music play. Once the gothic rock melodies filled his flat, he laid on the floor and listened. 

Hours passed as the spinning of the record was the only life within the room. All Draco could do was lay down and listen. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds produced a double record, one side was _Abattoir Blues_ while the other was _The Lyre of Orpheus._ Lot’s of serious contemplation led Draco to decide he preferred _The Lyre of Orpheus._ Disc 2 was a cow in a flowery meadow. It was gentle, soft. The second disc was still alternative, but it had more of a melodic quality than its counterpart. _Abattoir Blues_ was a rock record, you could feel a microphone stand being dragged across the stage. He loved it, but not as much as he loved the lyre. _Babe, You Turn Me On_ remained on constant replay for the rest of the afternoon. Draco charmed the record to play the song on repeat. 

~*~

Saturday night dinner with Narcissa and the Slytherins seemed more formal than it usually was. Mippy and Herman prepared a four course meal and set the table in the formal dining room. When Blaise and Draco arrived they were more than confused. Theo paced back and forth in the foyer. He kept running his fingers through his hair and pacing. Non-stop fucking pacing. 

Narcissa joined the boys at the table and attempted to make light conversation, sensing some sort of unease within Theo. Blaise and Draco tried to compensate for Theo’s lack of social skills but the entire interaction was forced and beyond uncomfortable. During the entree Theo finally spit it out, “I’m going to ask Bronson to marry me.”

_I think that one of these days…you’re going_

_to have to find out where you want to go._

_And then you’ve got to start going there._

_But immediately._

_You can’t afford to lose a minute._

_Not you._

Everyone’s forks clanked against the fine china. All eyes were on Theo, waiting for him to continue, When he continued to sit glued to his chair and wide eyed, Narcissa stepped in.

“I think that’s lovely, Theo.”

Narcissa made sure not to comment on the rush, she knew he didn’t need that. Although they had barely been dating a year, she knew how much Bronson meant to Theo. Narcissa could see the sparkle in Theo’s eyes that hadn’t ever shined before. 

It was Draco’s turn next, “You sure, mate?”

Theo nervously chuckled, “I’m not getting any younger.”

“You’re twenty-six,” Blaise retorted. 

“Look, I know we haven’t been dating for very long. I’m not going to get sappy but I love him. I truly love him. There’s no one else I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Draco gasped dramatically, “Not even _me_?”

“Fuck off,” Theo laughed in response.

Blaise spoke first, “I’m happy for you, Theo.”

Draco turned to Theo, “If I’m not your best man—”

“I haven’t even asked the bloke to marry me yet and you’re staking claim as best man already?”

Blaise laughed, “Jobs all yours, Draco. I don’t want any responsibilities at that wedding. If I’m running around doing shit how else am I meant to find women?”

This caused confusion amongst the group. Narcissa tried to tune out whatever Blaise was about to say, she tended to do that every Saturday night. She just wanted to eat her salad in peace.

“I thought you were dating Steph?” Theo and Draco inquired at the same time.

Blaise shook his head, “Bitch fucking broke up with me.”

“How’d you fuck that one up?” Theo couldn’t stop laughing.

“She found out about my heart—told me she didn’t want to date someone who was going to die.”

“That fucking bitch,” Narcissa threw down her napkin.

The Slytherins mouths dropped at the use of profanity. The normally overly calm pureblood witch looked like she was about to floo to Steph’s flat and _avada_ her on the spot.

“Cissy, it’s fine. It’s really fine,” Blaise got up and went to console his mum. 

Dinner continued less eventfully. Narcissa inquired about Theo’s plans on proposing and planned a trip with him to go look at rings at the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. She knew Theo didn’t want to use anything associated with his father and that he’d grown up feeling more Malfoy than Nott. It was only right that Theo got to use a Malfoy ring—they’d practically raised him.

~*~

As excited as ever, Draco left work early and headed to Variabilis. He immediately rushed to the second floor and found the romance section. Grazing his fingers over the spines, he found what he was looking for. _Constellations and Roses_ by Brita Swift was neatly packaged, courtesy of Amanda, and was ready to give to Hermione. She might not know the meaning behind the gift, but he knew, he’d seen it right before he kissed her. The book could’ve been about a grain of sand and Draco would’ve read it and given it to Hermione. 

When Hermione walked up the winding steps she was noticeably upset. Immediately, Draco rose and strode over to meet her. He tucked a curl behind her ear, letting their eyes meet. They stood like this for a few moments, silent but connected. 

Draco broke the silence, “Is something wrong?”

“Ron is dead.”

The world just turned upside down. It took every last ounce of the stardust they shared for him not to smile. Sometimes, God really did answer prayers, even if they were a decade late. 

“What happened?” Draco tried to remain sensitive and understanding, not knowing where her head was at or how she was feeling. 

“Fucking dumbass. Did you know 450 people die rolling out of bed every year?”

Draco’s eyes widened, “Are you saying—”

“That Ron rolled off his bed this morning, hit his head, and died? Yes.”

Internally, Draco couldn’t help but laugh. What a pathetic way to die. Fitting, though. A pathetic way to die for a man whose existence was quite pathetic. 

“I’m sorry Hermione, I know Weasley was your… friend.”

In an attempt to slightly cheer her up, Draco gave Hermione the book he purchased for her. They fell back into their routine of reading in their bay window The third quarter moon cast shadows against the pages of their books. They sat there until well after 10 o’clock, simply reading. Hermione nearly finished the book before she turned to speak to Draco.

“Why do you live in Muggle London?”

Draco laughed, “It’s quite a long story.”

“We have forever.”

“You remember that I left England after the war?”

Hermione nodded, beckoning for Draco to continue.

“After I got back… I didn’t know how people would perceive me.”

Hermione continued to nod along, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought. 

“I didn’t want anyone to look at me like scum. I already felt bad enough.”

This time, Hermione squeezed his hand to show him her support.

“So, when I returned I just wanted a fresh start. I felt like a new person and I didn’t want to fall back into feeling like the shite about myself.”

She began to gently stroke the top of his hand. Moving her index finger back and forth. 

“Muggle London felt like the only place where I could completely start over while remaining in England. I fell in love with the neighborhood and living at The Blur. I never left.” 

Hermione kissed him. Something about this kiss was different then the rest. It wasn’t full of passion and it wasn’t slow filled with love. It was, forgiveness. 

  
  


~*~

Instead of searching for how he felt about Hermione in his book of Bukowski poems, Draco searched for how he felt about himself. It took a few hours to find the poem and decide that the words he was reading on the page were true. Once he did, he picked up _The Catcher in the Rye_ and began to copy the poem onto the cover page. 

_Nobody can save you but yourself_ _—_

_and you're worth saving._

_It’s not a war easily won but if_

_anything is worth winning—_

_this is it._

_\- Charles Bukowski_

Thursday was quite boring for Draco. After he finished copying the poem, he began to re-read his Salinger book. Nothing could change Draco’s mind—Hermione knew exactly what she was doing when she handed him a new book. She had to. No way did all of these books hit something deep inside of Draco without her intending them to. 

Draco Malfoy laughed. 

_The thing is, it’s really hard to be_

_roommates with people if your_

_suitcases are much better than theirs._

He felt like such a fucking cliche. Again. Draco Malfoy felt like Holden Caulfield. His entire childhood he felt like a phony. He had to pretend to be all of these things when in reality all he felt was completely alone. His whole childhood, especially during the war, he felt so alienated from his peers. No one understood how he felt or what he was going through. Who else had a fucking psychopath with the creepiest slits for a nose living in their house? No one. There were more moments than he’d liked to admit where he thought about pitching himself the astronomy tower in year 6. Ending it all. Madness almost took over during Draco’s sixth and seventh year. The pressure was almost too much. So yeah, Draco felt like fucking Holden Caulfield. 

Not in the mood to cook, Draco floo called Bronson and asked him to prepare something for him for dinner at The Blackbird and that he would come pick it up. Draco couldn’t help but smile knowing Bronson was meant to be a part of his life for a very long time. Had Pansy heard yet? He needed to check in with her soon. She’d be ecstatic for Theo and try to plan the entire event. 

Twenty minutes later, Draco promptly arrived at The Blackbird to grab his mystery meal from Bronson. He noticed there was a new girl working at the hostess stand.

“Thanks, Bronson.”

“Anytime, Draco. How was your date the other night?”

“It was really great. Thank you for everything, mate. I really like Granger.”

“She seemed great. I’d love to get together with you two and Theo sometime for dinner.”

“Honestly, I think she’d like that as well. She seemed quite taken with you.”

“Looks like I might be stealing your girlfriend pretty soon.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I bet she’d look quite good on your arm.”

“As long as you don’t tell Theo. I wouldn’t want him getting too jealous.”

“He’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t walk in on the two of you shagging. Can’t image how horrible it’d feel to walk in on the bloke you’re in love with shagging a chick.” 

“It’d almost be better if I was cheating on him with you,” Bronson laughed. 

“At least he’d know you were still gay,” Draco couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. 

“I can pick Theo’s reaction now. Completely baffled just at a loss for words, looking back and forth ‘Nah’ and then pointing at me ‘Nu’ and then staring at Hermione ‘Uh’, poor bloke would be at a loss for words.”

Draco looked confused, “Nah-Nu-Uh?”

Bronson chuckled until Draco realized. 

“Shite, I’m daft sometimes.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Draco inquired, “Where’s Steph? Is she not working tonight?”

Bronson laughed, “I fired her. Asked her if she was taking the Mickey and that Blaise doesn’t deserve any of that bullshit.”

“Mate, didn’t you just break a bunch of labor laws?”

“Let the bitch sue me.”

Both Draco and Bronson laughed. Draco told him that he’d be in touch with Theo to set up dinner with the four of them and left to return to eat at home. The record player spun to the tunes of _Wish You Were Here_ by Pink Floyd as the uneventful evening turned into night. 

After showering, Draco couldn’t help but continue to think about Hermione. Even as he laid in bed, he couldn’t get her off this mind. How beautiful she looked in her dress on Tuesday night. Glowing like the moon. His mind wandered to the sound of her moans and how she looked underneath him. The sound of her moans filled his ears just as Portuguese and French had before. His cock twitched as it remembered the feeling of Hermione’s cunt clenching around it moments before she came and screamed his name. 

He tried not to. He really did. But, he couldn’t stop himself. Draco slid his hands over his boxer briefs and palmed his cock. Immediately, he groaned. He truly tried to stop there. To remain respectful. He couldn’t help himself. It felt _so_ good. Quickly, he removed his briefs and lightly tugged at his balls. Pleasure shot through his entire body. 

Finally giving in, Draco began to stroke his cock. His hand moved up and down, squeezing at the base, while thinking about Hermione’s tits bouncing as he fucked her. He didn’t even try to block her out of his mind. He knew whatever he did, she would creep right back in. The darkness behind his eyes flooded with images of the pure pleasure on her face as she came undone while staring directly into Draco’s eyes. 

Draco’s stokes grew faster. His pleasure rapidly increased. He tasted her again. How fucking good she tasted. His tongue ached to lap against her clit again, to taste her again. This wasn’t the same. His cock wanted to fill her again. Fuck. She was so fucking tight. Nearing his climax, Draco’s mind wandered to Hermione on her knees in front of him. This caused him to increase his strokes. His wrist moved rapidly as it twisted around his cock at the same time. Hermione’s mouth filled with his cock. Her eyes opened wide. Merlin, he wanted to shove all of himself down her throat, let her take all eleven inches of him. Draco could hear her moaning against his cock. Why was she moaning? He looked down again and saw her hands in between her legs. Fuck. She was touching herself. She was touching herself while Draco’s cock hit the back of her throat. He couldn’t last any longer. Draco came with Hermione’s moans ricocheting through his ears. Panting, he came back to reality. He’d never come so hard on his own before. Fuck. 

_Comin thro' the rye, poor body,_

_Comin thro' the rye,_

_She draigl't a' her petticoatie_

_Comin thro' the rye._

_Oh Jenny 's a' weet poor body_

_Jenny 's seldom dry,_

_She draigl't a' her petticoatie_

_Comin thro' the rye._

_Gin a body meet a body_

_Comin thro' the rye,_

_Gin a body kiss a body —_

_Need a body cry._

_Oh Jenny 's a' weet, &c. _

_Gin a body meet a body_

_Comin thro' the glen;_

_Gin a body kiss a body —_

_Need the warld ken!_

_Oh Jenny 's a' weet, &c. _

_Gin a body meet a body, comin thro' the rye,_

_Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry;_

_Ilka body has a body, ne'er a ane hae I;_

_But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I._

_Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the well,_

_Gin a body kiss a body, need a body tell;_

_Ilka body has a body, ne'er a ane hae I,_

_But a the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I._

_Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the town,_

_Gin a body kiss a body, need a body gloom;_

_Ilka Jenny has her Jockey, ne'er a ane hae I,_

_But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I._

_\- Robert Burns_

Looking at the moon, Draco noticed it was well past moonlight. The crescent waned and gave him the courage to let go. Draco Malfoy didn’t want casual sex. Draco Malfoy wanted Hermione Granger. He wanted to date Hermione fucking Granger. Finally, he surrendered. 

~*~ 

In lieu of Saturday night dinner, Narcissa and the Slytherins headed to the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. Theo was incredibly nervous. He was picking out his engagement ring. Narcissa couldn’t have been more excited for him. The first one of her sons was getting married. 

“He hasn’t even said yes yet,” Theo reminded Narcissa.

“You’re daft if you think he’s going to say no to you.”

Draco chimed in to ease Theo’s nerves, “Trust me. Bronson is going to say yes.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“I know everything you fucking cunt. Now, lets go pick out your fucking ring.”

Draco slung his arm around Theo’s shoulder as they walked into Gringotts. Blaise walked behind them, choosing to stick close to Narcissa. _If Blaise is fucking my mum I swear I am going to bash his fucking head in,_ Draco thought. Mrs. Malfoy laughed at something Blaise said. Growing increasingly infuriated Draco thought, _I don’t want anyone fucking my mother but if someone is going to at least let them last long enough for her to at least enjoy herself_. 

Once the four of them got into the Malfoy vault containing all of the jewelry, they all set out on trying to find the perfect ring for Theo to propose with. Conveniently, Draco wandered away from the group and looked at some of the engagement rings his ancestors wore. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever get to slide one of the rings in front of him onto Hermione’s finger. They hadn’t been dating for very long. Were they even dating? He couldn’t help but hope. He would just have to wait and hope. An array of diamonds, sapphines, rubys, and emeralds rested in front of him. It dawned on him that he didn’t even know her favorite color. How could he think about marrying the girl whose favorite color he didn’t know? He began to panic. Relax. Relax. Relax. He knew more than that. Draco knew what made her smile, who her favorite authors were, what her hopes and dreams are, and he knew the type of person she wanted to be. He knew her. He told himself. Don’t panic, you know her. You love her. Wait. What? 

Before Draco could even process his subconscious, Theo shouted, “I found it. I found the ring.”

It looked like everyone scattered throughout the vault. Narcissa, Blaise, and Draco ran to Theo’s side to see what ring caught his eye. It was gorgeous. Perfect. Honestly, it was perfect. The ring had three bands that all connected. The top and bottom were platinum bands with diamonds running the length of them. The middle was a platinum band as well but instead of diamonds it was embedded with onyx. The black contrasted against the silver in the most beautiful way. Instead of being three parallel bands, they overlapped. The three bands looked like the wings of a bird. They overlapped at the top of the finger, sprawling the diamonds and onyx out over the other half of the band. The ring looked like the wings of a blackbird. It didn’t just look like that. They _were_ the wings of a blackbird. 

_Make sure you marry someone_

_who laughs at the same things you do._

Blaise spoke first, “He’s going to love it.”

Narcissa had to whip tears from her eyes, “I’m so so happy for you Theo. I wish your mum was here with us right now.”

Theo gave Narcissa the biggest hug he could muster. She’d been his mum for as long as he could remember. Narcissa and Mrs. Nott were good friends before she passed and Theo knew that Cissy being here meant everything to her. Honestly, he’d never wanted or needed another mother. Narcissa had always been enough for him. 

Draco asked quite curiously, “When are you going to propose?”

“Next month. I have no clue when or how. But I know that I’d love for all of you to be there. I wouldn’t want to celebrate with anyone else.”

Narcissa nodded excitedly, “How about hosting an engagement party at the manor? You two could join the party after the proposal?”

Blaise chimed in, “As long as there aren’t blackbirds flying around the place. Those birds are fucking ridiculusly scary. I’ll pull the arrhythmia card if I have to.”

All three of them looked confused, “The arrhythmia card?”

“Yes. The, _I have an arrhythmia and if I see blackbirds flying around Malfoy Manor I will immediately go into cardiac arrest and nobody wants me to die,_ card.”

Everyone couldn’t stop laughing at Blaise’s antics. It was good he was using some humor to cope. Unfortunately, his heart continued to get worse. No one knew what to do about it. 

Attempting not to laugh in between words, Theo spoke, “Fine. No sodding blackbirds at the party. You win Blaise. You breathing is more important than a bird.”

~*~

It was Wednesday again. Finally. It was fucking Wednesday. Draco’s leg hadn’t stopped bouncing all day. _Fly Me To The Moon_ by Frank Sinatra floated around Draco as he headed towards Variabilis. 

_Fly me to the moon_

_Let me play among the stars_

_Let me see what spring is like on_

_A-Jupiter and Mars_

_In other words, hold my hand_

_In other words, baby, kiss me_

This was his musical solo. An entire band followed him as he walked. The trumpet players rocked back and forth as they played various tones by pressing on one of the three trumpet values. The flutists caused Draco to spin around the various lightposts on the sidewalk. His smile shined bright at the flute players blew the melody through the embouchure hole.

_Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore_

_You are all I long for_

_All I worship and adore_

_In other words, please be true_

_In other words, I love you_

Draco continued his musical number as the trombone players bopped along with him, the slide guiding their steps, to the tune while the vibration of their lips into the mouthpiece floated out of the bell. Saxophones and drums continued the steady beat of the rhythm so Draco could reinacte Gene Kelly’s famous number from Singin’ in the Rain.

_Fill my heart with song_

_Let me sing forevermore_

_You are all I long for, all I worship and adore_

_In other words, please be true_

_In other words_

_In other words_

_I love you_

As Draco’s fantasy musical number came to a close, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had been so focused on the moon that he forgot about Jupiter and Mars. It’s not that he thought he needed to find someone else. He’d just been so focused on how she was the moon he forgot that she wasn’t just the moon. No. Hermione was Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, Uranus, Venus, Neptune, Mercury, and Pluto. She wasn’t just his moon. No. She also wasn’t just the solar system. She was so much more than that. She pulled together clouds of gas dust. Her pull allowed stars to form. Over time, two separate structures appeared—Draco and Hermione, after an even longer period of orbiting each other they spun inside one another. No one is sure who blended into whom, what they did know, if together they created the brightest galaxy anyone had ever seen.

Hermione hugged Draco when he walked towards her. “I loved the book you got me. _Constellations and Roses_ was so beautiful.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

“The author was brilliant. The depth of the characters and the way she told the story of friendship? I could feel the love the two girls had for one another.” 

_What really knocks me out is a book that,_

_when you’re all done reading it,_

_you wish the author that wrote it_

_was a terrific friend of yours_

_and you could call him up on the phone_

_whenever you felt like it._

_That doesn’t happen much, though_.

“Did you have a favorite part?”

As Hermione continued on about how much she loved the book and that she had already bought everything else Brita Swift had ever written Draco couldn’t help but relate. He knew what it felt like to connect so much to an author you feel like their friend. He had the fortunate ability to speak to his favorite author and even though they weren’t really friends, it felt like they were. 

A great author creates a connection so deep between them and the reader that you can’t help but find pieces of yourself in them. That was the beauty about literature. 

Hermione paused her monologue to ask, “Draco, do you have a favorite author?”

He chucked, “I actually discovered a new author recently. I saw her display in a bookshop and couldn't remember her name so I went back to find her books. The pink hair certainly helped. I read all of her work over the weekend.”

“What’s her writing like?”

“I’m fascinated by her mind. She has the ability to make you question everything. I spent half of one of her books trying to figure out which side character she’d kill next.”

“Side character?”

“She has a tendency to make you fall in love with a side character and then kill them.”

“That would drive me mad.”

“I floo called Pucey and told him I was reading a book and that the character Adrian was going to die. He couldn’t stop laughing. We had a running bet going if he would die or not.”

“Well, did he?”

“I can’t spoil the ending for you, Granger.”

“Is there anything you _can_ tell me?”

Draco contemplated this while they stood their usual places in their bay window. There was so much he could say but he wanted to be deliberate. 

“Think of this as an homage to a shiny rock and a very large tree.”

The gears in Hermione’s brain kept chourning. Draco could tell. He loved when she was deep in thought. Honestly, she could be doing anything and he’d find something magnificent about her.

_That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty,_

_even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid,_

_you fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are._

_Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can._

Looking into her eyes, Draco felt at peace. Only the faintest outline of the new moon seeped through the window that night. His past didn’t matter anymore. Although he changed when he left England all those years ago, he never felt like he truly had a fresh start. 

It was different now. With Hermione—he finally had a new beginning. His past was the Earth and his new beginning was the Sun. His past was hidden from his new beginning by the moon, leaving only the faintest outline of it left. Maybe Draco was right. Hermione is the moon.

He couldn’t stop staring into her eyes. The fire that always dared to roar. He was mesmerized by the fire. Draco needed to thank Prometheus for bringing fire to humans. The fate of Prometheus didn’t matter to Draco. He didn’t care. All that mattered was Draco got to see the fire in Hermione’s eyes. He couldn’t imagine her without it. What would he see in her eyes had it not been for Prometheus? Fire truly was a gift from the Gods. 

The fire was his muse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> Mippy is borrowed, with permission, from the lovely Julie aka Lovesbitca8.
> 
> French Translations:
> 
> Putain, tu es céleste, toi. = Fuck, you are heavenly.
> 
> Je veux te goûter. = I want to taste you.
> 
> La meilleure chose que j'ai jamais goûtée. = The best thing I've ever tasted.
> 
> Jouie pour moi. = Come for me.
> 
> Allez, un de plus pour moi. = Come on, one more for me.
> 
> I hope everyone found all the Easter eggs hidden throughout.
> 
> Songs and albums mentioned/referenced:
> 
> Amour plastique: https://open.spotify.com/track/7M3HuQRRAm1QD4kftmq0bb?si=e811c437efb7477d 
> 
> The Beatles: https://open.spotify.com/album/1klALx0u4AavZNEvC4LrTL?si=4XPvD_79Qoi1STzJq-51xg
> 
> Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus: https://open.spotify.com/album/4OrbNhWLOrWi6lb40T0IHM?si=YVdBZNFiQV25xSD7ZeqCaA
> 
> A Night At The Opera: https://open.spotify.com/album/3KCJzwKOdBxDu6TKaFPqM9?si=ea0eKKxeTuW8kItOfu_ntA
> 
> Wish You Were Here: https://open.spotify.com/album/0bCAjiUamIFqKJsekOYuRw?si=iyV6loeOQMKEyXVQflanmA
> 
> Fly Me To The Moon: https://open.spotify.com/track/5b7OgznPJJr1vHNYGyvxau?si=cdc6f3aa096f4b88

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:
> 
> Mippy is borrowed, with permission, from the lovely Julie aka Lovesbitca8.
> 
> La Petite Grue en Papier = The little paper crane in French.
> 
> Variabilis = Changing phases in Latin
> 
> I hope everyone found all the Easter eggs hidden throughout.
> 
> Links to songs/albums referenced:
> 
> Moon River: https://open.spotify.com/track/0hUz4u3uxVm8Yz9WQHOgr1?si=98242e8eb8b54401 
> 
> Everything’s Alright: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zrrM6Qg2Dwg 
> 
> Attraction: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ix-QW-BShPY 
> 
> Mas Que Nada: https://open.spotify.com/track/0Vl9aGb0dmeiCQ2ATgNK2B?si=238f820a76694c92 
> 
> The Misfits Box Set: https://open.spotify.com/album/6vZ6KNlP8hReYxJVuU7G42?si=MqocYp5zSZe7j16m_pcuzQ


End file.
